


And Then One Fine Morning

by missbecky



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Civilian Eggsy, Falling In Love, M/M, References to Abuse, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-16 22:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7286500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy isn't doing too badly, considering the hand he's been dealt in life. He's got a job working nights and he's doing his best to take care of his mum and sister. And then one morning he meets a stranger at the bus stop, a handsome man named Harry who offers to share his umbrella when it starts to rain. Before the day is through, Eggsy is head over heels in love. </p><p>What's even more amazing, Harry seems to be falling for him, too. Right up until the day he sees the medal around Eggsy's neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Then One Fine Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was greatly inspired by the song [Bus Stop](https://play.google.com/music/preview/Txo52utdqe4vnksiq3kskzp7ire?lyrics=1&utm_source=google&utm_medium=search&utm_campaign=lyrics&pcampaignid=kp-lyrics) by The Hollies. The title comes from The Great Gatsby. I've taken liberties with London's geography, and probably all things to do with Asda, and for that I sincerely apologize.

At least three times a week Eggsy thinks about quitting. He's always exhausted, working nights and then going home to take care of Daisy and his mum. And it ain't like Dean gives a shit that he's tired all the time.

He knows he oughta be grateful he's even got a job. It's not like there's a lot of them going around, after all. He had to go halfway across the city to find anyone who would hire him, but he did manage it. It's something he can still feel proud about, on those rare occasions when he can be positive about his life. Night stockboy at Asda ain't ever gonna make him rich, but at least it's better than hustling for Dean. That fucker takes most of what he makes, anyway, "for expenses" he claims, but Eggsy is still able to save a little. It helps that he gets an employee discount, that he can buy Daisy's nappies cheap, that kind of thing. Still, there's never enough money, no matter how many hours he works.

He's tired and hungry as he trudges toward the bus stop that Wednesday morning. It looks like it's gonna rain, which is about right for early April, and also just his luck. His last umbrella broke when Dean hit him with it, and replacing it hasn't exactly been high on his list of priorities. He tells himself it don't matter if he gets wet; he's just gonna take a shower when he gets home anyway -- but he still really hopes the rain holds off until the bus comes. 

He's been doing this long enough by now that he pretty much knows everyone at the bus stop. And by that he means he recognises them, and they exchange polite nods. It's mostly the same faces every day, men and women who live in this part of the city getting ready to go to work. They dress nice and carry briefcases and lunch pails, and none of them has ever said so much as good-morning to Eggsy in his hoodie and cheap Asda uniform.

Today though, there is someone new at the bus stop. He gets Eggsy's attention right away, not just because he's taller than everyone else, or because he looks grouchy as hell, but because he's possibly the fittest fucking bloke Eggsy has ever seen.

The new guy is wearing a dark grey pinstriped suit and horn-rimmed glasses. His hair is perfectly styled. He holds an umbrella in one hand and one of those silver insulated cups, no doubt full of coffee, in the other. At his feet is an expensive briefcase. The other people waiting are either reading a book or staring down at their phones, but the new guy watches Eggsy approach. Two of the women glance up and nod at Eggsy, but the new guy just continues to stare at him.

It's not like Eggsy to feel self-conscious. And he definitely don't like being stared at. So he stares right back as he shuffles into his customary spot behind the skinny bloke with the tablet. 

The new guy finally looks away. He sips at his coffee and purses his lips, clearly displeased.

Eggsy shoves his hands in his pockets, hunches his shoulders, and settles in to wait. 

A few seconds later, it starts to rain. 

Men and women squawk in dismay and hurry to protect their phones. Umbrellas go up, black and blue and white. Eggsy puts his hood up, ducks his head and peers down the street, hoping to see the bus.

It ain't there, of course.

The sea of umbrellas around him shifts and parts. A voice murmurs, "Excuse me." Then the new guy is standing there beside him. "Would you like to share my umbrella?"

His voice is deep, rich with the posh accent Eggsy and his mates usually make fun of. And while Eggsy is still just staring at him, the man moves in so close that their elbows touch and shelters him beneath the biggest umbrella Eggsy's ever seen.

Eggsy's too shocked at first to do anything. He's struck speechless by how close the man is standing and the scent of his cologne. Up close the guy is even taller than Eggsy first thought. His eyes are a warm brown colour. And he must have the reflexes of a cat; even with a thermos full of coffee to deal with before he could get the umbrella open, there isn't a drop of water on him. 

"I hope you don't mind," the man says. 

Eggsy just stares a little more, because is this fucking guy for real? Not only is he the first one here to ever do more than grudgingly acknowledge Eggsy's presence, he actually came over to share his umbrella. It's completely unprecedented. There are no random acts of kindness in Eggsy's world, and it makes him immediately suspicious and uncomfortable. 

But letting on that he feels such things is to invite even worse upon his head. So out loud he just says, " 'Course not. Thanks."

The man smiles a little. "I would offer to shake hands, but as you can see..." And yeah, Eggsy does see. The insulated cup he was carrying before is gone, and in his left hand is his expensive briefcase.

"No worries," Eggsy says.

Rain patters onto the umbrella arcing above their heads. The man next to him is so tall that he holds the umbrella up higher than Eggsy would if it were just himself standing here. His right arm is getting wet a little, but he doesn't really mind. It's a small price to pay for having the rest of him be dry. 

The real gift, though, is just getting to be here. Next to this insanely attractive man with the tailored suit and glasses and legs that go on for miles. He's easily twice Eggsy's age and then some, but that don't stop his cock from being interested.

"I'm Eggsy," he offers.

"Hello, Eggsy," says the man standing pressed up against him. He doesn't say the name with mockery or polite confusion, the way most people do. "My name is Harry."

"Pleased to meetcha," Eggsy says, and then he can't help laughing. This has got to be the weirdest way he's ever met someone. 

Harry smiles. It's not a real smile, more like a curving of his mouth, but it transforms him all the same. He's suddenly a million fucking times more attractive, and Eggsy's cock starts to actually sit up and take notice.

The last thing he needs, though, is for Harry to take notice of _that_ , so he quickly asks, "So what do you do?"

"I'm an auditor," Harry says. He glances at his briefcase, then sets it on the ground at his feet. The pavement there is only slightly damp, but either he doesn't notice or doesn't care.

Eggsy blinks. "Sounds fun," he says, because he can't think of anything else to say. 

"Well, it can be," Harry says. "Although I suspect 'fun' wouldn't be the first adjective most people would use to describe it."

"More like fucking boring, I bet," Eggsy says before he can think. 

The words hang in the scant space between them. Eggsy actually cringes a little. "Sorry," he mutters.

"It's perfectly all right," Harry says. He doesn't seem to have taken any offence. "It's certainly not for everyone."

This will be where he asks what Eggsy does. Eggsy braces himself for the question, grateful that his hoodie is zipped up high enough to hide his uniform shirt with _Gary_ sewed on the left breast.

But Harry doesn't ask. He just stands there with his right side pressed up against Eggsy's left side, while the rain falls all around them.

It's a little weird, to be honest. Although maybe the weirdest thing about it is that it doesn't actually feel wrong. Eggsy doesn't really know what to do with that, so he fills the silence with more dumb words. 

"Ain't seen you here before."

"No. A car usually takes me to work." Harry smiles at him again, making Eggsy's heart skip a beat. "But I must say, I'm actually rather glad it failed to show this morning."

Eggsy can feel his jaw drop. Surely he heard that wrong. And he's gotta be misinterpreting that look in Harry's eyes.

But Harry is looking at him with apparent sincerity, and Eggsy _really_ doesn't know what to do with that, so he looks away.

What he sees is interesting. Rain streams off the clustered umbrellas, pattering down on the pavement. Some of the people at the bus stop glower down the street, looking for the bus, which is running late. A few of them are watching him and Harry. These people mostly look curious, but one lady looks downright hostile.

"So do you live around here too?" Harry asks.

It's an innocent question, but Eggsy can't help tensing up. He doesn't really understand why he cares so much, why he doesn't want to lose this total stranger's good opinion. Maybe it's because it's been so long since anyone looked at him like he wasn't gum stuck on their shoe. Maybe it's because he really does think he sees interest in Harry's eyes, and he's interested right back, and he knows all that's gonna go away the moment he explains his situation.

Well, fuck it, he decides. What he's got to hide? Better yet, it ain't like he's got anything to lose.

"No," he says. "I live off Rowley Way." He says the name with some defiance, fully expecting Harry to know where it is and wince.

He does see comprehension in Harry's eyes, but that's all. No condemnation, no instinctive drawing back. Just patient waiting.

"I get the bus here," he says. He doesn't go into the whole explanation of how he gets on the first bus not far from the store, rides for a while then gets off a few blocks over, walks to this stop, and then starts the whole process all over again. "I got off work an hour ago."

Harry nods. "Night shift."

"Yeah," Eggsy says. The defiance is back in his voice.

"That's not easy," Harry says.

"No," Eggsy says, a bit too loud. "It ain't."

"Do you like it?" Harry asks.

"I fucking hate it," Eggsy pronounces. A few people at the stop turn slightly as the curse drifts across the rain toward them. The sense of hostility rises a little.

"I can't say I blame you," Harry says. And it might be Eggsy's imagination, but he seems to press a little bit closer just then. "Thankfully there isn't really much call for auditors to work the night hours."

Eggsy thinks about his boss's office in the corner of the huge store, Harry perched on the chair with its sticky wheel, a stack of papers in front of him, and laughter bubbles up in his throat. "Lucky for you, bruv."

No, it's definitely not his imagination. Harry is close enough now that Eggsy could whisper in his ear just by tilting his head a little. He sees the gold of the signet ring on Harry's little finger, and breathes in his cologne. He wants to lay his hand over Harry's, and feel those long, slender fingers on his. He wants to kiss the dimple in Harry's chin and find out if he tastes as good as he smells. He wants to see what Harry looks like beneath the tailored suit and tie, and if his eyes get lighter or darker without the glasses.

Fucking hell, he's already totally gone for a complete stranger. No wonder his life is such a disaster.

A quiet sigh goes through the people clustered at the stop. Umbrellas are slightly lowered in expectation. Eggsy looks up and sees the bus finally approaching.

He doesn't move.

Beside him, neither does Harry.

The bus pulls up and stops. People close their umbrellas and hurry aboard. "Is this yours?" Harry asks.

"Maybe," Eggsy says. He shrugs a little, and the movement causes Harry's right arm to lift, too. Over their heads, the umbrella rises, then returns to its former position. "Yours?"

"It might," Harry muses.

The last person gets on the bus. The doors remain open for a moment longer, although Eggsy can't see the driver. Then at last the doors slide shut and the bus pulls away, back into the wet morning traffic.

"Damn," Eggsy says mildly.

"What?" Harry looks down at hm.

"I think I just missed my bus," Eggsy says.

Harry looks at him for a moment, and then he smiles. It's a real smile this time, teeth and everything. He ducks his head a little when he smiles like that, lines crinkling about his eyes. It should make him look old. Instead he looks sexy as hell.

Eggsy shifts his weight a little, uncertain what happens now. He knows what he would _like_ to happen, but he hasn't believed in fairy tales since he was six. He certainly ain't about to start believing in them now. At best they'll stand here waiting until the next bus comes along, and then they'll climb on board and Harry will go to his auditing job and Eggsy will go home to the flat that reeks of booze and Daisy's nappies and try to stay out of Dean's way before he ends up doing something he'll regret. And tomorrow he'll stand here waiting to see if Harry shows up again, and feel stupid and cuss himself out for being a fucking idiot when he doesn't. And that will be that.

"Would you like to get a cup of coffee?" Harry asks.

It's like the rain stops and the sun comes out. Before he can overthink it, Eggsy says, "Fuck yeah." He grins, because he's seen this movie a dozen times. He knows exactly where this is headed.

A split second later, though, doubt sets in. Harry is probably just being polite; he seems that type, proper gentleman and all. This doesn't actually mean anything. Coffee means just that: coffee. He isn't about to get lucky, he isn't about to get laid, he isn't about to get anything except a few pounds he can't really afford to spend lighter in the wallet.

"Wonderful," Harry says. He takes a deep breath and he smiles a little. Almost like he's relaxing, like he was all tensed up before. Which Eggsy knows he wasn't, because hello, they're still pressed together all up and down his left side. 

_What the fuck are you doing?_ he asks himself. His mum is expecting him at home. Dean will be in a foul mood if he gets back late. He needs to try and squeeze in a couple hours of sleep sometime today or he's gonna be falling asleep on his shift tonight. 

_What are you doing?_ The words are so clear that for a moment he actually seems to hear them, a ghostly voice floating in the air near Harry's glasses.

Then he's hurrying across the street, trying to stay beneath Harry's umbrella, and there's no time to worry about what he might do because he's already doing it. 

****

The coffee shop is crowded. People stand in little clusters, seeking shelter from the rain. Others are just here for some coffee and a pastry on their way to work or school or wherever. It smells of wet clothes and coffee and powdered sugar, and is blissfully warm.

"Excuse me." Harry makes his way through the crowd, such a gentleman that even the grumpiest-looking people step aside for him without complaint. He's careful not to hit anyone with his wet umbrella, and Eggsy notices with some surprise that his glasses don't fog up, even though they've just come from the cold and wet.

"What would you like?" Harry asks.

Suddenly uncertain again, Eggsy barely glances at the menu board hanging on the wall. "Dunno. Don't matter, really." He's not sure he wants Harry buying him anything, but at the same time he's even more reluctant to spend his own money.

Fuck, he really needs to get over himself.

The queue moves slowly, and by the time they finally reach the counter, he's made up his mind. He orders a regular black coffee and the cheapest donut they have.

"Make it two," Harry says. Eggsy glances at him in some surprise; he woulda figured Harry for one of those blokes who takes five minutes to order, what with all the extra shit like no-fat whipped milk, or whatever the fuck people put in their coffee.

They find a table near the corner, squashed in between two larger groups of people, and sit down. Harry sips at his coffee and starts on his donut. "I shouldn't really have sweets," he says. He doesn't look remotely guilty about it, though.

Eggsy just shrugs. "Eat what you want. We're all gonna die of something, right?"

"Very true," Harry says. He nudges his briefcase under the table with his foot, where it rests beside his furled umbrella.

"You gonna get in trouble for bein' late to work?" Eggsy asks. He could kick himself for not considering it earlier. If Harry gets in trouble at work, there's no chance he'll be pleased to see Eggsy again tomorrow. Or ever.

"No," Harry says. "I don't actually work for the company I'm currently auditing. I can set my own hours."

That sounds like a sweet deal, actually. "Been there long?" Eggsy asks.

"A little over a week," Harry says.

Eggsy nods and drinks his coffee. He doesn't want to talk about work. That shite is boring. And he gets the impression that Harry isn't really interested in it, either.

"So, Eggsy," Harry says. "Do you have family?"

That's not a topic Eggsy wants to discuss at all. But they gotta talk about something, otherwise this is gonna turn really weird, really fast. Already he's wondering if he made a huge mistake in coming here.

"Got a baby sister," he says.

It's like he said the magic words. For a while they sit there talking about Daisy and the funny shit she does. Eggsy avoids any mention of Dean or his real dad, gets by with only a glancing reference to his mum, and praises the hell out of Daisy. She's real smart, he tells Harry. He can see that already. She's going places. No way she ends up working the night shift at Asda so she doesn't have to run drugs or steal shit to make ends meet.

Not that he says that last bit out loud.

In return Harry tells him that he lives alone but that he used to have a dog. He never got another one, though, he says. He's away a lot, working long hours and traveling to different parts of the country, sometimes even overseas if his clients have offices abroad. It's difficult to keep a pet under those circumstances.

Eggsy nods in sympathy. He can't believe how easy it is to talk to Harry. It feels like they've known each other for ages, not just a couple hours. He still wants to kiss Harry and touch him, but now that desire is mixed in with the wish to know more about him. He could happily sit here in this smelly, crowded coffee shop all day if it means getting to talk to Harry all that time.

It isn't meant to be, though. They've moved on to complaining about the weather, and Harry is telling a story about a blizzard he once experienced in Norway when he suddenly stops talking. His gaze shifts down and to the left; it almost looks like he's listening to something only he can hear. Then he gestures with his left hand, and Eggsy realises he was just looking at his watch; he must have caught the time and suddenly freaked out.

"I'm terribly sorry," Harry says, "but I really do have to go. I'm running very late."

Eggsy nods. "Yeah, I kinda figured."

Harry gathers up his briefcase and umbrella. Outside it's still drizzling, but not as badly as it was earlier this morning. He stands in front of the table for a moment, indecisive. Then he smiles. "I had a lovely morning, Eggsy. Thank you."

"Yeah, me too," Eggsy says as he stands up, although _lovely_ isn't exactly a part of his everyday vocabulary. At least, not in the way Harry means it.

For a moment Harry looks like he's about to say something else. Eggsy waits for him, his heart beating too fast in his chest. _Say it_ , he thinks. _Ask me for my number. Ask me. Come on._

But Harry doesn't ask. He just nods and says, "Have a safe trip home. Good-bye."

And that's it. The magical morning is over, and this is all there is. This is all there was ever going to be. Harry turns around and walks out, and Eggsy is left standing there, feeling colossally stupid and very, very small.

"Fuck," he says quietly.

****

Home feels grubbier than usual, smellier and louder. He's come back too late to even try to sleep; Daisy is crying in her cot and the telly is on, tuned to some stupid game show. Poodle is slumped in his chair next to the couch, a joint burning between his fingers. His mum and Dean are nowhere in sight.

"Dean says you got paid today," Poodle says. He doesn't look up from the game show.

"No," Eggsy says. It's actually tomorrow.

Poodle gives him a sharp look. "You holding out on us?"

"You try actually looking at a calendar?" Eggsy shoots back. He can get away with it because his mum isn't here, because Dean isn't here to hit him and tell him to show some respect.

Poodle shifts in his chair, lifts his leg, and a new stink rises to join the smell of nappies and beer. Eggsy scrunches up his nose and transfers Daisy to his other hip. "Fucking hell, Poodle. What did you eat?"

"Shut it," Poodle snaps, and turns the TV up a little louder.

Eggsy entertains a brief fantasy of shoving his face into the telly, then turns his back on him and takes Daisy into his room. At least in here it will be a little quieter. And a lot less stinky.

****

Work is the same as ever that night. He yawns more than usual and gets a Coke from the vending machine, needing the caffeine to help him stay awake. He glances often at the clock, trying to will the time into moving faster.

He knows it's stupid. Harry won't be at the bus stop. He said he normally has a car take him in. Yesterday was a one-off. It won't happen again.

 _But what if he's there?_ his traitorous brain keeps insisting. _What if he is?_

The thought sustains him through the long night. Earbuds firmly in place, he stands in the aisle with the physical fitness stuff and lifts some of the weights, heedless of who might see. Nobody cares, just as long as he doesn't break anything and he gets his work done. Hell, Eric Chen spends half the night faffing around in the gardening section and no one ever says anything. It's just how it is.

Normally he's in no big rush to leave, not being too keen on hurrying home and all, but today he's out the door right at the stroke of six. Stuffing his paycheque in his pocket, he walks quickly through the nearly empty car park, and tries not to think about what he'll do if Harry isn't at the bus stop today.

He hasn't slept in thirty-six hours, but Eggsy doesn't feel remotely tired. He hops on his first bus and sits down. His heart is hammering. He's gotta stop this, he really does, he knows it -- but he can't help it.

He gets off at his stop and walks swiftly through the streets. It's another dull grey day, light rain in the forecast. Eggsy zips his hoodie up a little higher and turns the corner.

He can see the bus stop now, and the people waiting there. His step falters briefly as he looks.

And yes. Harry is there.

He's actually really surprised by how happy it makes him to see Harry standing there. He can feel a goofy grin on his face, but his pace slows a little as he savours the anticipation of their meeting.

The people at the bus stop glance up as he draws near. A few of them nod; they don't mean it, they're just being polite. Harry stands there with his insulated cup of coffee and his umbrella, and watches Eggsy approach. 

Now that the moment is here, the doubts come creeping back. What if yesterday really was a one-off, inspired by the rain and the unusual circumstances in which they met? What if Harry got in trouble at work for being so late and now he wants nothing to do with Eggsy?

"Good morning, Eggsy," Harry says.

Eggsy lets himself breathe again. It's okay. It's cool. And hell, it's more than cool, if the look in Harry's eyes is anything to go by.

"Morning," he says. "Guess you don't have a car again, huh?"

"No," Harry says, and he smiles. "It's a shame."

Eggsy's heart does that funny thing again, skipping a beat then sending hot blood rushing through him. Fucking hell. Harry really _is_ interested. He gave up his company car and driver so he could stand here and wait for a smelly, slow bus. All so he could see Eggsy again.

He walks up but stops a short distance away. "Supposed to rain again today."

"Yes," Harry says. He glances at his umbrella, the tip resting lightly on the ground. "I see you didn't come prepared."

"Sure I did." Eggsy grins. "Got you, don't I?"

There's about half a second where he thinks he fucked up, he's gone too far. But then Harry smiles at him, those lines crinkling up about his eyes. "Yes," he says. "I suppose you do."

They stand there in silence for a little bit. Out of the corner of his eye Eggsy can see a couple people staring at them. He has the insane urge to suggest that they leave. Not to the coffee shop this time, but somewhere private. Somewhere he can finally find out what Harry tastes like.

"I brought you something," Harry says. "It's not much, but I thought..." He reaches into his suit coat pocket -- today he's wearing a light grey check -- and pulls out a packet of dummies. There's three of them all brightly coloured, red, pink, and purple. "For your sister."

Eggsy just stares. Yesterday he had mentioned that Daisy was forever losing her dummy and then screaming her head off. He hadn't expected Harry to remember that. And he certainly hadn't expected this.

Harry looks a bit anxious. "Shit. Are they the right ones? I can take them back, exchange them for--"

"Nah," Eggsy says, and tries to hide how delighted he is that Harry just swore like that in front of him. "They're perfect." The bright colours will hopefully make them easier to spot, even in the clutter of their flat. "Thanks."

Harry relaxes. "You're welcome."

Eggsy takes the packet. "You didn't have to do that." A nasty suspicion that he's just a charity case goes through his mind, but he quickly squashes it flat. Dummies for Daisy are hardly enough to be called charity.

"After our lovely conversation yesterday, I almost felt as if I knew her," Harry says. "It seemed only appropriate."

Eggsy shakes his head, but he can't help smiling. He's never met anyone like this before, a proper gentleman who swears with ease. "Whatever, bruv."

Silence falls between them. It isn't entirely uncomfortable, but Eggsy still searches for something to say. He glances upward, thinking the weather is always safe, and right on cue it starts to rain.

This time he actually gets to witness how spooky-fast Harry moves. In a flash he bends down and shoves the insulated cup in his briefcase. As he straightens back up he opens his umbrella and holds it aloft. It all happens so quick that once again he doesn't even get wet.

Eggsy is ready. As soon as it's clear, he shifts over until he's standing right next to Harry beneath that great umbrella. "Hi."

Harry smiles. "Hello again."

Having him so near takes Eggsy's breath away. He revels in the facts of Harry: his cologne, the smoothness of his skin, the warm brown eyes behind his glasses. His smart suit with the polka-dotted tie, his fancy umbrella with a gold trigger to open it. That packet of dummies for Daisy, a gift to be given to someone he wasn't even sure he would see again.

It's all a bit much.

The rain continues to fall. Underneath the huge umbrella, Eggsy stands with half his body touching Harry. He feels ridiculously happy.

Traffic hisses past in the rain, the sight nearly blocked by all the umbrellas at the bus stop. Eggsy looks once for the bus and doesn't see it; he hopes it's running late again today.

He feels like he ought to say something. The silence is starting to feel awkward. With nothing to talk about, all he can think about is how close Harry is, and how much Eggsy wants to see him naked. 

So he's a little surprised when Harry says, a bit stilted, "So Eggsy, what is your favourite film?"

Maybe he ain't the only one finding all this a little bit strange. That makes him feel better, like he's not being stupid about this whole thing. If someone as polished and put-together as Harry can be nervous, then it's definitely okay for Eggsy to feel that way.

He doesn't even have to think about his answer. " _Fast and the Furious_ ," he says.

Harry nods. "Ah, good choice."

Eggsy blinks. "What, you've seen it?"

"I've seen all of them," Harry replies.

That can't be true. He has an urge to quiz Harry on them, ask him some trivial question about the fourth movie, for instance. "No way, bruv. You serious?"

"Of course I am," Harry says. He sounds mildly affronted, like how dare Eggsy challenge his honesty.

Everything about Harry is too fucking unreal. Eggsy grins.

"I suppose I don't look the type," Harry says. He glances down at his suit. Bespoke, that's the word for it, Eggsy suddenly remembers. Bespoke meaning incredibly expensive. Also meaning at some point Harry went to see some tailor and stood there half-naked while someone measured him for that suit.

Which is something Eggsy _really_ doesn't need to be thinking about.

"Gotta admit," he says, "you really don't."

"Let me guess," Harry says. He doesn't seem offended by Eggsy's response. If anything, he looks a bit amused. "You think someone like me would watch musicals. Old black and white films. Foreign films, the ones with dreamy music and lots of subtitles."

He winces a little. Well, yeah. Faced with it like that, he's kinda ashamed to admit it, though.

"Then I am pleased to set you straight," Harry says, and now he's practically smirking. "Although I do admit that I rather enjoy musicals."

"Me too sometimes," Eggsy confesses. This is not something he's ever told anyone before. Admitting to that sin in his neighbourhood is practically an engraved invitation to get the shit kicked out of him.

"Which one is your favourite?" Harry asks.

" _My Fair Lady_ ," Eggsy says. He looks Harry dead in the eye, no teasing, no being coy. Straight up honest.

Harry tilts his head a little, a smile at his lips. "Well, you're full of surprises."

Eggsy can't help preening a little. He's pleased as fuck that he could put that look in Harry's eyes. It makes him wonder what else he might do to surprise Harry.

Ahead of them, a silent murmur goes through the assembly. The bus is coming, and without a single word, it's clear that there will be no avoiding it this time, no ducking into a coffee shop, no happy hours spent in conversation. Eggsy tries not to feel disappointed. After all, they can still talk on the bus, maybe even for a while, depending on where Harry's stop is. Sure, it won't be the same as standing beneath this umbrella, cocooned by the rain, but it's still a chance to sit together and talk.

He'll take it.

****

Friday morning it doesn't rain. In fact, it's sunny out. Harry stands at the bus stop again with his umbrella, though, and Eggsy has a huge grin on his face as he walks up.

"Good morning, Eggsy," Harry says, still the perfect gentleman.

"Good morning, Harry," Eggsy says, trying on his posh accent. It fits oddly in his mouth, and yet it sounds kind of right, too. In a weird way.

Harry smiles. His suit today is navy blue pinstriped, his tie striped too. Apparently auditors don't do casual Friday.

That thought bums him out. He won't see Harry over the weekend. In fact, he has to wait until Tuesday morning to see him again, because of how their schedules work.

It fucking sucks. 

"So do you have any plans for the weekend?" Harry asks. In the early morning sunlight he seems to glow, his eyes warm and inviting. 

_Yeah, you_ , Eggsy wants to say. If this were a movie, they would spend a whirlwind weekend together with lots of fucking and kissing and maybe even taking a shower together (like the way Eggsy fantasised last night while he stood under the water, one hand stroking his cock). 

But this ain't that kind of movie. So he just shrugs. "Dunno. Thought I might see how long the queue is for them SIM cards Valentine is giving away."

Harry gazes at him. He reaches up absently and pushes at his glasses, shifting them up a little on his nose. "Valentine's free SIM cards?"

"Yeah," Eggsy says. The lines have been enormous since Richmond Valentine made his announcement. He doesn't really have time to stand in a queue for hours, not even for free shit. But it's been a couple weeks. Hopefully by now the lines won't be so long.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Harry asks. 

Eggsy looks at him like he's gone mental. "It's free," he says. " 'Course I'm sure."

"It's usually been my experience that something that good is only being offered for free because there is a hidden catch," Harry says. 

"Yeah, well," Eggsy says, which ain't an answer, because really, he knows Harry is right. You don't gotta be a posh bloke in a suit to know that. But still. If he can get out of paying a mobile phone bill, that's more money he can set aside. Dean will try to take most of it, of course, but Eggsy reckons he can still manage to save up a little more.

"Do you think I could look at it?" Harry asks.

Confused, Eggsy says, "What, the phone?"

"Yes," Harry says. "I'm not sure if it's something I want to do myself. It would be nice to see it first before I make up my mind."

"Yeah I guess," Eggsy shrugs. He's low-key irritated by this. After all, it's pretty certain that Harry don't got problems paying his bills.

"Thank you," Harry says. He adjusts his glasses again. "As for me, I'll be working most of the weekend, but at least I can do it from home."

"That fucking sucks," Eggsy says with feeling.

"Yes," Harry agrees. "It fucking does."

All of this reminds him. "I won't be back until Tuesday morning, you know. I get Saturday and Sunday nights off. A proper weekend like regular people."

"I see," Harry says. And it might just be wishful thinking, but he seems actually disappointed by this news.

Seeing that makes Eggsy feel marginally better about it all. It also sets off little fireworks in the pit of his stomach. It's one thing for him to fancy Harry. It's safe, in a weird way -- he'll never get to be with someone like Harry, so that makes his crush okay. But for someone like Harry to fancy him? It's impossible. It's dangerous.

It's fucking incredible. 

He doesn't get it. Harry is posh and sophisticated and twice his age. He's an _accountant_ , for fuck's sake. He's never seen Eggsy in anything except a hoodie zipped up to hide an ugly Asda uniform. They have nothing in common except that they both seem to prefer blokes and they like _My Fair Lady._

But Harry likes him. Likes him enough to give up his comfortable car and driver and wait for the bus every morning so he can talk to Eggsy. Eggsy's never known anyone like that before, who would voluntarily give up something good in order to spend time with someone like him.

The bus appears down the street; the people gathered at the stop begin to collect their belongings and get ready. Eggsy glances wistfully at the coffee shop across the street, then says, "Ready?"

Harry gestures a little with his umbrella, still tightly furled. "After you," he says.

****

The weekend isn't so bad. He manages to get some decent sleep, which helps. The queue for the free SIM cards is long, but he's got some music to listen to, and he texts back and forth with Ryan, which helps pass the time. On his way home he gets takeaway for dinner, and they eat like a proper family, almost, the three of them perched on the couch, watching telly and eating fish and chips.

When they're done, though, Dean starts in on him about being out all day, calling him lazy and ungrateful. "Look at this place." He makes a sweeping gesture with his arm, including the overflowing ashtrays, the beer bottles stacked on the counter, the rubbish bin piled so high the lid won't close. "It's a fucking mess. It's a bloody disgrace is what it is."

Eggsy listens to most of this in sullen silence, but at last he can't help blurting out, "If you wanted it cleaned up so badly, why didn't you do it?"

"Don't give me any bloody cheek," Dean snarls. He's got his jacket half-on, both arms literally too busy to lash out and hit Eggsy, which is exactly why Eggsy chose then to speak up. "Now get your arse in gear. When I get back, this place better look halfway decent."

He had been planning to head to the Black Prince with Ryan and Jamal, but on the spur of the moment Eggsy decides he's fine with staying in. The flat really _does_ need to be cleaned up, and it's worth it if he gets to have few hours away from Dean.

His mum gives him a breezy kiss good-bye, Daisy propped on her hip. Dean lingers in the doorway and glares at him, looking for some reason to pop him one, probably. Eggsy just stands in the living room, dirty plates in hand, and waits for him to go.

He doesn't relax, though, until the door closes behind Dean.

****

He doesn't have to work Sunday night, which means he doesn't have to be up early on Monday.

He gets up, anyway.

Coming from Rowley Way instead of his job, the timing is a little different. He gets to the bus stop nearly half an hour ahead of his usual time. He watches one bus arrive, but stands back, staying at the stop while everyone else gets on.

For a little while he stands there alone. Little by little, the usual crew arrives. Some of them glance at him curiously, not having seen him before on a Monday. A couple of them nod -– but fewer than normal.

Eggsy doesn't care. He stands there in his favourite striped polo and jeans, his dad's medal about his neck, tucked beneath his shirt where no one can see. It's a bit cool out today and cloudy, but it's just the usual London haze, not rain clouds.

Time ticks away. Eggsy pulls out his phone and glances at the screen, checking to make sure it isn't too late. He bites his lip and looks up and down the street in both directions. He doesn't actually know which direction Harry comes from; he's always the last one to arrive.

They're all there at the stop, everyone he's used to seeing, when it finally dawns on him that Harry isn't coming. And why should he? He thinks Eggsy won't be here today. He's taken the company car this morning, sitting in the backseat and working on his tablet, sipping coffee from that silver insulated cup he always carries.

On the one hand it's kind of flattering, that Harry would only now go back to his old routine. On the other hand, it fucking sucks.

He scowls down at his phone, shoves it in his pocket, looks up -– and there is Harry, walking swiftly toward the bus stop.

Eggsy's heart does that thing it always does when he first sees Harry again, skipping a beat and almost hurting him physically. He feels the huge grin split his face, and he actually raises a hand in a sort-of wave, because he's a total fucking idiot who's so far gone for this man that he's already utterly fucking hopeless.

Harry's entire body language changes when he spots Eggsy. The umbrella he was practically thumping on the street with every other step lifts in his hand like it weighs nothing. His stride quickens, those long legs eating up the pavement. He smiles, and it's clear that he's quite surprised. "Good morning, Eggsy. I didn't expect to see you here. I'm sorry I'm late. It's a terrible habit, one I can't seem to break."

"Well," Eggsy says, "I didn't have nothing else to do."

"I must admit, I'm very pleased to see you," Harry says. He walks up and stands very close, almost as close as if they were clustered beneath his umbrella.

Some of the people at the bus stop turn to stare at them. Most of those stares aren't terribly friendly. Eggsy doesn't give a shit. His attention is caught by the shadow on Harry's cheek. "What happened there?"

Harry's gaze flicks to one side. "Oh," he says. "I'm afraid it's rather embarrassing. I got up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water and I didn't turn the light on. I walked right into the doorway." He looks a bit rueful. "I may have said some things then that no polite gentleman would say."

Eggsy doesn't know what to say. He's very familiar with that story, having used it himself for the past ten years. And he knows all too well what a bruise looks like beneath carefully applied makeup. What he doesn't know is if he should call Harry out on it. After all, his story could very well be the truth. It's not like Harry's got anyone at home beating him if he's too late bringing home his paycheque or if he talks shit about anyone down at the local.

So he goes with it. "You mean like all them other 'polite things' you've said?"

"Yes," Harry says with a perfectly straight face. "Those fucking things."

Eggsy grins again.

"So," Harry says. "Did you get your free SIM card?"

"Yeah," Eggsy says. "Queue wasn't too bad."

"May I see it?" Harry asks. He sets his coffee cup down beside his briefcase, hooks his umbrella over his left wrist, reaches up to adjust his glasses, then holds out his hand.

"Um, sure," Eggsy says, cause it's not like he can say no without seeming rude. He pulls out his phone and offers it up.

Harry hits the home button, then looks up. "May I?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Eggsy says. His lock screen is a picture of himself with Ryan and Jamal at a party last year. He's got nothing to hide, having learned long ago that Dean has no scruples about going through his phone if he thinks Eggsy's got something on there worth checking into.

Harry doesn't bother with any of the apps, though. He just goes straight online, pulling up the BBC's website. It loads pretty fast, quicker than it did before. Harry makes a quiet humming noise, then reaches into his suit coat pocket and pulls out an old-fashioned looking fountain pen. He flips off the cap with his thumbnail and tucks it behind Eggsy's phone for safekeeping. Then, before Eggsy can ask what he's doing, he uses the tip to poke the hole in the bottom of the phone and pop out the SIM card.

"Oi," Eggsy says. "Careful with that."

Harry barely glances up at him. "It doesn't look any different," he muses.

"Well, what'd you expect?" Eggsy says. "Ain't like it's gonna have his face on it or something." Although he wouldn't have been surprised if it did. Richmond Valentine is quite a character.

"No," Harry says under his breath. Weirdly enough, though, Eggsy gets the distinct impression he isn't talking to him just then. More like he was answering some question he had in his head.

The people at the bus stop go into their collective sigh and sway. Without looking up, Harry says, "Is that the bus?"

Eggsy looks down the street, and sure enough, it's approaching. "Yeah," he says.

He hears the faint click of the SIM card being put back in. He looks back at Harry and watches him close the Internet and hold the phone out. "Thank you for letting me look at it." Harry caps his fountain pen and slips it back into his coat pocket.

"Sure thing," Eggsy says. "So, you gonna get one?"

"I'm not sure yet," Harry says.

Eggsy shrugs and takes his phone back. He lets his fingers brush Harry's hand as he does, a deliberate gesture that has his heart pounding and his mouth feeling dry. Sparks light under his skin where he touches Harry, a whole series of fireworks that starts in his fingertips and sizzles up his arm and down his chest straight to his cock.

Fucking hell, he's got it bad.

The most magical thing about it, though, is the way Harry's breath catches. His fingers curl up briefly, prolonging their contact. He stares at Eggsy so intently that there is absolutely no mistaking his reaction.

If they were anywhere but at a crowded bus stop, Eggsy would kiss him right then and there.

Instead he shoves his phone into the pocket of his hoodie. As he's doing this, Harry says quietly but viciously, "Oh fuck off."

Startled, Eggsy glances up in time to see Harry give his glasses an irritated push further up his nose. "Um, okay," he says.

Harry looks surprised for a moment, then he seems to realise what he just said. "Not you," he says firmly. He makes a vague gesture to the crowd ahead of them; half of them have already filed onto the bus, and there's no telling who was giving them the dirty look, or whatever it was that made Harry snap like that.

"Oh," Eggsy says.

That's another first for him. Someone defending him. He's not quite sure what to do with that.

So he just gets on the bus, and he sits beside Harry and they talk all the way to Harry's stop. And when Harry gets off and Eggsy is left sitting there alone, he brushes the fingertips of his right hand into his left palm, and he remembers the sparks that lit him up at their first touch, and he shivers.

****

All that spring, Eggsy feels like he's become someone else.

This new Eggsy Unwin is having a secret affair. Not like _that_ , fuck no. He and Harry haven't even kissed yet. Kinda hard to do when the only time they see each other is at a noisy London bus stop and while riding on the bus itself.

But he's definitely, totally, arse over tits in love.

And the best part, the thing he hugs to himself with utter delight, is that Harry loves him back.

Morning after morning, they meet at the bus stop. They talk about what they did the previous day, what movies they recently saw, the weather, football, even politics. Eggsy finds himself paying attention to the news and looking stuff up online so he can hold an intelligent conversation about current events. Together they discuss the growing number of disappearances by celebrities and politicians, wondering who or what is behind it and what they could possibly want.

Some days, though, they don't talk a whole lot. They stand beneath Harry's enormous black umbrella while it rains around them, or the wind whips at their hair (to Eggsy's joy, Harry's hair is wonderfully curly when it's come free from its rigorous styling). Occasionally Harry even opens the umbrella when it's bright and sunny, saying it's good protection from the heat.

Standing there with him, Eggsy feels more happy than he has in, well, forever. It's an incredible feeling to be with a person who actually wants to be with him, who always smiles to see him, who now makes deliberately innocent excuses to touch him when no one is looking.

Some mornings he's carrying a plastic bag containing his latest purchase from the store. Nappies for Daisy, a new spatula to replace the one Dean threw across the room and broke, a bottle of cheap perfume for his mum. Harry always shows interest in what he's bought, and Eggsy hands these things over with a bit of defiant shame, even as sparks crawl beneath his skin when he gets to touch Harry's hands.

He knows now that Harry has been an accountant for over thirty years and that he prefers reading paper books to a Kindle. He's told Harry that he likes Thai food and that he has a shit-ton of computer games but he doesn't really play any of them. He knows Harry is often scolded at work for being late, but because he's the best at what he does, his boss lets him get away with it. He's told Harry he applied for an assistant manager position at another store but he's pretty sure he won't get it because he doesn't have the experience they're looking for.

He doesn't know Harry's last name and Harry doesn't know his. It's never come up before, never seemed to matter. Harry's number is not in his phone, and he hasn't given Harry his number. They don't need to call each other, not when they see each other five days a week; five not four, because Eggsy gets up early every Monday to come down here, even though he used to look forward to a lie-in on Monday mornings. He's got something a whole lot better to look forward to now. And there's something about the anticipation, too, the fact that they don't talk any other time, that adds to the intensity of their morning encounters and makes them more special.

Or maybe he's just full of shit and stupidly in love.

This morning it's grey and drizzly out, a bit cool for the middle of May. It's not a real rain, but it's enough for Harry to open his umbrella. They stand there in their accustomed spot, and Eggsy looks over at Harry and he's so happy he's surprised he doesn't just float away.

Today Harry is wearing his navy pinstriped suit with the pink-striped tie; it's a combination he wears a lot. Eggsy's seen them all by now, and is strangely proud of that fact. He knows the colours, the patterns, the matching ties. One morning he suggested Harry should pair the black polka-dotted tie with the charcoal grey suit, and the very next day Harry showed up wearing exactly that. Eggsy had spent the entire morning trying to hide his stiffy and told Harry that he should take fashion advice from him more often.

"So did you always want to be an auditor when you grew up?" he teases.

"Well, not exactly," Harry says, "but I did always love maths. Numbers have always been fascinating to me." His eyes light up, the way Jamal's do when he talks about Arsenal, or Dean's after a good hit. "And I'm very good at them, too."

"Yeah?" Eggsy says. "Like what? Gonna tell me how many toothpicks are left in a box, that kinda thing?" Yeah, he's seen that movie; they've talked about it before, how cool it would be to go to Vegas and count cards in a glittering casino.

"Not quite." Harry looks him up and down. "But I can tell you your sizes. Your collar. Your shirt. Sleeve." He pauses. "Hips."

Eggsy suddenly feels warm all over, totally stripped bare. Harry's gaze is weighted, phantom fingertips trailing over his skin. It's enough to make him suppress a shiver and shift his weight ever so slightly to hide his growing arousal.

Neither of them speaks. In mere seconds, something has changed between them, creating a minute but very tangible tension that was never there before.

Except that's not exactly true, and Eggsy knows it. It was always there, right from the beginning. This is just the first time they've acknowledged it.

He starts to speak, then clears his throat. "You wanna get some coffee?"

They haven't left the bus stop since that first day when they let the bus drive off without them. Eggsy's thought about it often, though. Hell, he's dreamed of it, of what might happen after that first cup of coffee, and where they might go next.

"All right," Harry says. He's still looking at Eggsy with that same expression, his eyes dark and intent.

They set off across the street, leaving the bus stop behind. Eggsy is keenly aware of where they are touching, his arm pressed up against Harry's arm, bespoke linen rubbing his cotton hoodie. It's not a real touch, of course, but for the first time all spring he thinks that the real thing might actually be about to happen.

Just outside the coffee shop, Harry pauses. Eggsy takes half a step forward without him, then halts. "What?"

"I'm not actually in the mood for coffee," Harry says.

Eggsy stares at him. His pulse is racing. Holy shit, it's really happening. "Me, either."

Harry studies him, his grip on the umbrella's handle so tight his knuckles are white. "Would you… I wonder if you would care to go somewhere else?"

Eggsy almost forgets how to breathe. "Yeah."

"Somewhere private," Harry says. It's not a question.

There's a really good chance he's actually at home, asleep and dreaming this. In which case it's no big deal to show how pathetic he is and reveal that he's done his homework in the event that all his hopes should come to pass. "There's a hotel a couple blocks over. We could go there."

A deep stillness settles over Harry. It's like watching a wild animal all tensed to spring in those last few moments before it leaps for the kill. With a fluttery sensation in his chest, Eggsy waits for it.

"Yes," Harry says.

They walk quickly down the pavement. Eggsy is slightly in the lead, but there is no hesitation in Harry's step, and he realises that Harry too knows exactly where this hotel is. The thought of it, of _why_ Harry knows this, makes his cock swell a little more.

He wishes he had known this was going to happen. He wishes he wasn't just coming off a shift at work, where he's been sweating a little and was stuck for a while in a breakroom that smells of other people's cheap microwave lunches. He wishes he could brush his teeth, take a shower, put on some clean clothes that don't have his name sewed on the front breast pocket.

But all that stuff doesn't really matter, does it? He's about to be alone with Harry in a hotel room. It's everything he's ever wanted. His regrets drift away; wild happiness rises in his chest to take their place. 

He feels like he's floating, like he's about to walk right out of his winged trainers.

The hotel is not far; they make it there in almost no time at all. Eggsy hangs out in the lobby while Harry gets them a room, all too aware of what this looks like. He studies his phone, pretending to be engrossed in what's on the screen and avoiding meeting anyone's eye. He ain't embarrassed, he tells himself fiercely. He ain't.

At the sound of Harry's footsteps, he looks up. He sees the keycard in Harry's hand and the faint question in Harry's eyes.

He nods.

They don't speak on the lift ride up to their floor. The tension between them is thick enough to touch now. Eggsy can practically hear his own heart beating.

Their room is small and smells like industrial cleaning products. There are two beds and a TV bolted to the wall. The drapes are drawn and there's a sign on the desk letting them know what the hotel's wi-fi password is. Eggsy takes three steps inside and then stops. He turns around and watches Harry close and lock the door. And then he's on Harry, kissing him the way he's wanted to do since the day they first met.

He's fantasised about this often enough that he's pretty sure he knows what their first kiss will be like. He realises in that first instant, though, how very, very wrong he is.

Harry kisses like he's been yearning for it all his life. One moment he is raining gentle kisses on Eggsy's lips, and then his mouth hardens and his kiss becomes demanding. He cups the back of Eggsy's head with one hand, his fingers sliding through Eggsy's hair.

Eggsy moans in the back of his throat, opens his mouth for Harry's kiss, and thinks that this is what drowning feels like.

He sways against Harry and wraps both arms around him. He can feel Harry's arousal, which is both gratifying and amazing all at the same time. Against all reason, Harry really _does_ want him.

This is really going to happen.

He takes a single step backward, pulling Harry with him. They're still kissing, their breath hot, his lips slick with wet. Another step back, closer to the bed. It's not just sparks in his blood now, it's a fucking forest fire.

They're wearing too many clothes. He mouths at Harry's lower lip and pulls on his suit jacket. "Take it off."

"You," Harry says, and Eggsy has no idea if he's ordering Eggsy to do it for him or saying that he needs to undress, too.

Either way works. He releases his hold on Harry and yanks at the zip of his hoodie. His mouth feels swollen and already he misses the feel of Harry's lips on his. He's in such a hurry that he almost gets one arm tangled in his sleeve, and he sort of throws the hoodie on the floor, not caring where it ends up.

He looks up and sees Harry's taken off his suit jacket and draped it across the bed closest to the door. His dress shirt is a crisp white, perfectly pressed and tucked into his trousers. Without the jacket to hide his upper body, the extraordinary breadth of his shoulders is fully revealed. Eggsy wants to touch him so badly he can taste it, wants to slide his hands down Harry's back to his tapered waist and the swell of his arse.

"Fuck," he breathes.

"In good time," Harry says, and there's such a wicked glint in his eyes that Eggsy laughs, even as his cock presses almost painfully against the seam of his jeans. Christ, he's so hard already and Harry's barely even touched him.

"You're so beautiful," Harry murmurs, and then he's kissing Eggsy again. There is less gentleness in this kiss, more possession. He licks into Eggsy's mouth, claiming him and taking what he wants.

And Eggsy is more than happy to give it to him.

They back up again, and the bed bumps his leg. He makes a muffled noise and rises up onto his toes in order to kiss Harry firmly enough to make his point.

He's breathing hard as they break apart this time. He watches Harry work at the buttons of his dress shirt, those sexy hands deft and clever. Harry never stops staring at him; his eyes have gone dark, no longer warm and inviting but predatory.

Eggsy yanks at his uniform shirt, pulling it up and over his head. He lets it drop to the floor and then he just stands there, a bit awkward and suddenly nervous all over again. It's been a while since anyone looked at him like this. He doesn't really have anything to be embarrassed about, but he's still unsure of what Harry will think about his body.

Harry had just started to reach for his tie, but when he sees Eggsy standing there bare-chested, he freezes. He stares at the medal hanging about Eggsy's neck. "Where did you get that?"

Eggsy glances at the medal; unconsciously he raises one hand, almost but not quite touching it. "Had it since I was a kid," he says. He shrugs one shoulder, not sure why it's such a big deal. "It was my dad's, I think."

Harry slowly lowers his hands to his sides. "You think?"

He shrugs again. "Yeah. I don't know." He doesn't want to think about his dad or the medal, or any of the questions sure to follow. They can talk about that kind of thing later if they have to (although he'd rather they didn't), but not now. Not when it's just gonna kill the mood. Not when they were so close to finally getting what they both clearly want.

So he says, "It ain't important." He smiles a little, amused by the sight of Harry with his shirt unbuttoned but his tie still perfectly knotted at his throat. He moves in closer. "Here, I got this."

And to his shock, Harry steps back.

Eggsy goes stock still. His heart starts hammering in his chest, but now there's nothing remotely fun about it.

"I'm very sorry," Harry says. He sounds stiff and formal, like the posh gentleman he seems to be on the outside. He's never talked to Eggsy like this, not even once. "But I don't think we can do this."

Eggsy's stomach churns. The temperature in the room seems to have plunged twenty degrees; he feels cold all over. "Why not?" he manages.

"It wouldn't be right," Harry says. He starts to do up his buttons, and even now Eggsy still loves his hands, still wants to feel them on his skin.

That pisses him off. He's just been rejected and he doesn't even know why, and still all he can think about is what he almost just had. "What the fuck?" he demands. "What the fuck is going on?"

Harry looks at him, but for the first time since they met, Eggsy can't tell what he's thinking. He's shut himself down, closed himself behind a wall that can't be climbed. "I really am sorry," he says, and his voice at least is full of feeling. "I just…" He shakes his head. "You're so young yet, and I'm—"

"Oh, fuck that," Eggsy says, and for a moment he feels okay again. Because if that's all this is, Harry having doubts about his age, then that's easily fixed. He'll happily prove Harry wrong and later they can laugh about it, how silly they were.

"You're actually much better off," Harry says. "I'm not…" He breathes out slowly, his jaw tight. "I'm not who you think I am, Eggsy. I don't even think you would like me, if you really knew me. Believe me when I say this is for the best." He backs away and reaches for his suit jacket without even looking. He finds it and gathers it up.

"So, what? You're just fucking leaving?" He can't believe this is happening. Just fifteen minutes ago he was the happiest he's ever been. He can still taste Harry's kisses and feel the heat of his hand on the back of his neck.

Harry stands at the door just long enough that Eggsy thinks there might be hope after all. For a moment Eggsy thinks he might even say something. Then his eyes harden and he squares his shoulders. "I wish you the best, Eggsy. You're an amazing young man, and I'm glad I got to know you."

And then he's gone.

****

He stays in the hotel room for a little while. Hell, it's paid for. He might as well.

He puts his shirt and hoodie back on. He doesn't touch the medal about his neck. He still doesn't know what it was about the medal that set Harry off. Or maybe it wasn't the medal at all, but the sight of his bare chest, the sight of his _youth_. The medal was just an excuse, something for Harry to stare at while he freaked out.

He very carefully does not think about what's going to happen tomorrow morning.

A hoover runs up and down in the hall outside the room. Someone lays on a car horn in the street below. Eggsy sits on the chair at the little table in the corner and stares blankly at the wall.

So this is what it feels like to have your heart broken.

He's never been in love before. He never knew it was possible to feel so happy with another person. He never knew it was possible to feel this much pain because of another person.

He ain't gonna cry, though. Not at all, he vows. Not even as the wall blurs into nothing and the hot tears streak down his face. 

****

When he gets home, Daisy is asleep and his mum is pacing in the living room, a lit cigarette dangling from one hand. "Where have you been?" she demands. "I've been waiting on you."

"Had to work late," Eggsy says tonelessly.

His mum is already throwing on her jacket. "There's some leftovers in the fridge for lunch," she says. "Unless Poodle had them already." She grabs her purse. "See ya, babe."

"Yeah," Eggsy says. The door shuts and she's gone, a trail of ash leading through the kitchen.

****

The next morning Harry isn't at the bus stop. Eggsy knew he wouldn't be, but he's still surprised by how much it hurts.

He takes his usual place behind the skinny bloke with the tablet. It's raining out, but no one offers him an umbrella today. He just stands there and gets wet.

****

May slips into June. He doesn't see Harry again. The weather gets better, but Eggsy uses his employee discount anyway to buy his own umbrella. It's meant for one person, a black-and-white striped thing that's cheaply made and looks it, but it keeps the rain off his head and that's what matters.

He tries not to think about Harry and what they almost had, but it's like asking the sun not to rise in the east. No matter how hard he tries, he finds himself back in that hotel room, wondering what the hell he did wrong and what he could have done to prevent Harry from leaving.

He just wishes he knew. He wants to understand. He knows Harry was attracted to him. That's not even up for debate. More questionable are Harry's feelings for him, but even then, Eggsy feels he's on solid ground. The way Harry looked at him, his eyes lighting up when he would see Eggsy approaching the bus stop every morning, or the genuine happiness in his smiles when they would talk about stuff -– none of that was fake. He knows it. He _knows_ it.

So what the fuck happened then? Why is he standing here alone day after day? Where is Harry?

He finds himself falling into a state of depression so clichéd it's straight out of the movies (And oh wouldn't Harry laugh at that.) He picks at his food and can't sleep at night. His work gets sloppy and he gets written up when he drops a case of baby food, breaking half the jars. He declines invitations from blokes at work to hang out with them, is short and curt with just about everyone, and drinks way too much at the Black Prince.

One night while they're sitting there slowly getting pissed, Jamal and Ryan ask him what's going on. He's no fun to hang out with anymore, they say. Is everything okay?

A bit startled, Eggsy stares at them. "What the fuck are you on about?"

"You," Jamal says with a gesture at him. "You been acting like someone ran over your dog lately."

"Yeah," Ryan chimes in.

"Just leave it," Eggsy says. He hadn't realised he was that obvious about it, and it kinda pisses him off. His heartbreak is supposed to be a private thing, just like his love was. Neither of them knew about Harry. And now they never will.

"You can talk to us, bruv," Ryan says, all fake somber tones. He nudges Jamal and they both chuckle. "Right?"

"I said, leave it!" Eggsy says. He slams his pint down on the table.

"Touchy, touchy," Jamal teases.

"Just fuck off," Eggsy snaps. He turns around and walks out so fast he practically bumps into Rottweiler on his way out.

"Oi!" Rottie yells. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Away from your ugly face," Eggsy says.

The look on Rottie's face is priceless. He pays for it later, though, when they hold his arms and Rottie punches him repeatedly in the stomach and kidneys until he's retching. They take their cue from Dean; they know he's got a job so they rarely hit him in the face. Nothing noticeable, nothing to make anyone suspicious.

Not that there's anyone to notice.

****

The second week of June, he gets a bill for his mobile. He rips open the envelope and stares at it in angry disbelief. He's got Valentine's SIM card now. It's supposed to be free. So what the fuck is this?

He calls the phone company and spends ages on hold waiting to talk to someone. When the customer service lady finally answers his call, he says, "Yeah, I got a bill and I wasn't supposed to?"

The lady asks for his account number and he hears the tap of her keyboard. "According to my records," she says, "everything here is paid in full."

He's so relieved by this, by not having to spend money he hasn't got, that he barely hears when she goes on talking, something about a direct pay with a bank account or something like that. It don't make sense anyway because it's all supposed to be free, but really the only thing Eggsy cares about is that he's off the hook as far as the bill is concerned.

He rips it up and throws it in the rubbish.

****

Even though he promised himself he wouldn't do it, every morning he walks up to the bus stop and he can't help looking, scanning the people standing there, searching for one particular face. Maybe today will be the day Harry comes back. Maybe today will be the day it starts pouring and he takes shelter under that black umbrella with the fancy gold trigger. Maybe today will be the day Harry begs his forgiveness and says he was a fool and would Eggsy please give him another chance.

And of course it never is. Harry doesn't come back. He ain't ever coming back and Eggsy is a fucking idiot to think he will. People like Harry don't come back once they leave.

But it really hurts. He loved Harry so much. And if he's honest with himself, he has to admit that part of him still does love him. If Harry were to come back and ask for a second chance, Eggsy would give it to him. He'd make Harry work for it, of course, but he would grant it all the same. Because he would do anything to get to be with Harry again, to be as happy as he was during those magical weeks when all they had was that umbrella and that noisy bus stop but it felt like they had the entire world.

It makes him angry when he gets like this. It ain't his fault, he reminds himself. He wasn't the one who freaked out and left. He wasn't the coward who couldn't handle it. That was all Harry.

This is all Harry's fault.

"Yeah," he says to his reflection one Sunday evening in June. He's been ready to go for a little while, but he's still standing here, staring at his own face, wondering, wondering. "Wasn't me."

"Eggsy?" his mum calls from the living room. He ignores her. He's going out with Ryan and Jamal tonight, and nothing is going to stop him.

"Wasn't me," he says again. "It was you."

"Eggsy, come here!"

He sighs and turns away from the mirror. If he goes on ignoring her she'll just keep yelling, but if he finds out what she wants then maybe she'll let him go quickly.

He steps out into the living room. Poodle is sitting in his chair beside the couch. Dean is there, too, supposedly watching TV, but Eggsy knows from experience that in fact he's watching him, listening carefully. Just waiting for him to fuck up.

"Got any Rizla, babe?" his mum asks.

"No," Eggsy says truthfully. She asked him to get her some yesterday but he forgot.

"Why don't you do your mum a favor, go down to the shop and get some?" Dean says.

"Get it yourself," Eggsy sulks. He lingers in the doorway, refusing to take another step. He's going out with his mates tonight, nothing more.

"Oi," his mum scolds. "What have I said to you about speaking to Dean like that?"

What she's said is that he shouldn't do it because it just gives Dean an excuse to get pissed off at him. Ain't like she really cares. And since he's already in a bad mood 'cause he knows he's gonna have to go out for her, Eggsy says, "Three's a crowd, innit? Why don't Dean's Poodle go?" As if that's ever gonna happen. 

To prove it, Poodle glares up at him from his chair, daring him to continue that sentence.

Dean must be in a good mood tonight. Instead of flushing red with anger and calling Eggsy a lazy fucker, he reaches into his wallet and holds out a tenner. "I'll tell you what," he says. "Why don't you take this and get some Rizlas, and get yourself some sweets." Like Eggsy's still the ten-year old kid he was when Dean first entered their lives.

It'd be fine if he stopped there, but being Dean, of course he don't. He's just gotta be an arsehole. Smirking a little, he says, "And while you're gone, we'll show your mother that three _can_ be good company."

As if to protest this disgusting comment, Daisy starts to cry.

Thoroughly revolted but knowing better than to show it, Eggsy takes the money. He fucking hates it when Dean talks like that, implying all kinds of nasty things about his mum and what they get up to when he's not around, or hell, even when he's in the next room.

His mum don't seem to care, though. Right away she and Dean get all wrapped up in each other like horny teenagers. Poodle is still staring helpfully at the TV, so Eggsy goes over to where Daisy lays. He finds one of her dummies and gives it to her so she stops crying. It's old and battered; the brightly colored ones Harry bought were lost weeks ago. "There we go," he says with a smile that is purely for her benefit. "Is that better?"

Daisy stares up at him through watery eyes.

Eggsy straightens up, casts one final glare in Dean's direction, then leaves.

****

The Black Prince is no more crowded than it is any other night, but Eggsy still feels like he's suffocating. It's warm for June, but it's supposed to rain. He hates that. Rain always makes him think about Harry and how they met. Rainy days make him remember what it felt like to stand beneath Harry's ginormous umbrella, standing so close together they were pressed up against each other. 

Rain makes him miss Harry more than he can stand.

Ryan and Jamal talk shit like they always do, but Eggsy finds it hard to join in. "One of these days I'm gonna smash his face in," he says. He's been saying that for years. Maybe one day he'll even do it, but it's not bloody likely.

"Are you mental, cuz?" Jamal says, the way he always does in response to this. "He'd just get that lot to do you," he points at Rottie and the others, "and then pretend he knew nothing."

Ryan hisses in dismay and Jamal lowers his accusing finger. It's too late, though. Rottie's seen. "Oi! You think you can talk shit about us and we won't do nothin' just because our guv'nor's bangin' Eggsy's mum?"

"Pretty much yeah," Eggsy says, because why not. He left giving a shit behind about an hour ago.

Rottie gets up and comes over, already looking forward to beating up Eggsy again. Being a bit more rational about things, Ryan and Jamal urge him to leave. It's probably for the best and all, but just then Eggsy decides he's had enough. He is just. So. Fucking. Done.

He stands up so quick Rottie actually recoils. Eggsy puts a hand on his arm. "Sorry about that, bruv," he says, all false sincerity. Like he would ever actually apologize to this dickhead for anything.

"Yeah," Rottie says, nodding as if he's pleased that Eggsy's finally learning who's in charge.

They walk out onto the street. "It's gonna rain," Eggsy says. "Why we walkin'?" He holds up his jingling prize.

Jamal boggles at him. "You jacked his fucking car keys, bruv?"

"Yeah," Eggsy says smugly. "Now we're gonna nick his car."

And for a little while, it's fucking awesome. He forgets all about Harry and his broken heart. He drives like mad through the streets of London, drives fucking _backwards_ of all things, laughing and feeling absolutely crazy. He hasn't done anything this recklessly stupid in months, not since he went out looking for a job and actually found one. He knows he's going to get all kinds of shit for it, but he don't care. For this one night, for this brief time, he's gonna let himself be happy again.

It don't last, of course. He sees the fox and he swerves to miss it, and he loses control of the car. He manages to get Ryan and Jamal out, giving them a chance to get away, and then to make sure of it, he deliberately rams the police car.

Might as well. It's not like he's got anything to lose.

****

After a night in the police station, though, he's ready to rethink things. He can't go to jail. If he does, there will be no one to look after his mum and Daisy. He left the Marines so he could take care of his mum. He can't leave her alone now, not like this.

As far as he can see, he's only got one option. "I wanna exercise my right to a phone call," he says, and that's it then. This is what he's been reduced to: the favor he swore he would never call in because he could handle it, he could do it all on his own.

The woman on the other end is not helpful. He panics for a second, then remembers the words he's supposed to say. "Your complaint has been duly noted," the woman says, "and we hope we have not lost you as a loyal customer." And then the call ends and Eggsy lets the phone fall to the table, because he's just blown his last chance and it was all for nothing.

Except that it ain't. A little while later, one of the cops comes to get him and tells him he's free to go. Confused, part of him wondering if this is just an elaborate prank, Eggsy walks out of the police station and into a warm Monday morning.

He's halfway down the steps, looking around and still half-expecting to hear shouting aimed in his direction, when he hears his name. "Eggsy. Would you like a lift home?"

He knows that voice. Oh fuck, he knows it. He spins about and there is Harry standing up against the wall with that damn umbrella, wearing his pinstriped grey suit and sunglasses. Fucking Harry, like he never left, like the past month hasn't happened, like Eggsy hasn't spent every fucking day since then wondering where he went wrong and if he's ever gonna be over it.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he demands.

"I'm the man who got you released," Harry says. If he's nervous to see Eggsy again, he doesn't look it.

"That ain't an answer," Eggsy says. Because what Harry just said don't make one bit of sense.

"A little gratitude would be nice," Harry says. He takes a deep breath, and Eggsy sees the truth then. The way Harry is totally posed against the wall all casual-like is meant to hide the fact that he's terrified. Behind the sunglasses, he stares at the medal hanging around Eggsy's neck. "I gave you that medal." He pauses a little, then says, "Your father saved my life."

A hundred different things flash through Eggsy's brain just then. Questions like _how_ and _the fuck_ and _who are you_. Accusations and confusion and lust and hurt and anger and a shitload of things he can't even put a name to. It's all jumbled up in his head and he doesn't know what to say first so he doesn't say any of it.

"Is there somewhere we could go?" Harry says. "I think we need to talk."

Eggsy nearly laughs out loud. Somewhere they can go. Yeah, like last time. 'Cause that ended so well.

"I know a place," he says.

Harry nods and he starts down the stairs.

Moving mostly so he can keep some distance between them, Eggsy goes down the steps, too. His thoughts are whirling. He keeps throwing little glances over his shoulder, wondering if this is for real. It's the umbrella that throws him off. If he were imagining Harry as his rescuer, he would definitely include the umbrella. But if Harry is really here, would he actually bring it?

They stop on the kerb, and Harry hails a cab. Eggsy keeps staring at him. He can feel the words backing up in his throat, turning into a lump that gets stuck there. All those things he's wanted to say for a month, the things he's imagined they would talk about if he ever saw Harry again. He's got his chance now, and he can't say a single fucking thing.

They get in the cab and Harry looks at him expectantly. Eggsy blinks, not getting it at first, until the cabbie says, "Where are you going, gentlemen?"

"Oh," Eggsy says. "Um, the Black Prince?"

The cabbie nods and pulls out into traffic.

Sitting right beside Harry is torture. Eggsy can smell his cologne. The umbrella leans up against the seat, the curved handle inviting Harry's hand to wrap around it, those beautiful long fingers that once upon a time cradled the back of his head while Harry kissed him senseless.

It's too much.

"Didn't think I'd ever see you again," he says.

"You weren't meant to," Harry says quietly.

The words hit him like a punch in the face. He jerks back. "Then why are you here?"

"You called the number," Harry says, like that explains everything, when in fact it don't.

"What the fuck does that mean?" He remembers now what Harry said about his dad, how he was the one to give Eggsy the medal. Is Harry really the man from his childhood, the one he doesn't actually remember coming to the flat, the one who gave him the medal he's cherished all his life?

Harry sighs a little. His glasses have lost their tint and returned to their normal state. He looks a little tired, a little older than Eggsy remembers. Or maybe he's just seeing Harry more clearly now that he's not so stupidly in love.

"I'll explain everything," Harry says. "But not here."

Eggsy glances up at the cabbie. He can promise the guy doesn't give a shit what they talk about, but yeah, okay, he can go with that. As long as he gets his explanations, he can wait to hear about his dad and how Harry knew him.

What can't wait, though, is this: "Is that why you left? 'Cause you saw the medal?"

"Yes," Harry says. He looks down at his hands folded neatly in his lap. "I knew who you were then. I couldn't possibly stay after that."

 _Fuck you, you coward_ , Eggsy wants to say. But he can't make himself say it. He needs Harry to stay a while longer yet so he can learn about his connection to his dad. He needs Harry to explain what the fuck is going on.

He needs Harry to stay because if he has to watch him walk out of his life a second time, he's going to break into a thousand pieces.

They don't talk again. Eggsy holds himself very still and refuses to look at Harry. He's gotta stay calm, he tells himself. He's not the one who bolted. He's done nothing wrong – except be himself. Gary "Eggsy" Unwin. Son of Lee Unwin, who apparently saved Harry's life at one point.

So Harry must have been in the Marines too when he was younger. Except Eggsy can't make the numbers work. He might not be fascinated with maths like Harry, but even he can figure out that when Lee was killed, Harry would have been in his mid-thirties. And since he already told Eggsy he's been an accountant for over thirty years, something definitely ain't right. He's lying now about knowing Lee, or he lied about his job, but either way, he's not being honest.

It makes him wonder what else Harry told him that's a lie.

The cab stops at the Black Prince. Eggsy gets out and then stands there defiantly. He don't got the money to pay for a cab ride. But Harry doesn't pay, either. He just thanks the driver politely, who nods at him and then drives off.

More mystified than ever, Eggsy leads the way into the pub.

There's nobody here at this hour. They sit in the booth by the window, where Rottie and his thugs were last night. Harry drinks most of his pint in one go, but Eggsy barely touches his. It's too early in the morning to be drinking, and besides, he needs to keep his head on straight.

It's not at all easy to do. Sitting here across from Harry, he's reminded all over of how little they actually had. They only got to do this once, on the day they first met, when they hid out in the coffee shop for a couple hours. Those mornings at the bus stop were always so wonderful, he never really missed having anything more. Had they been given more time, he supposes he would have eventually wanted more and asked for it – but they'll never know now.

Harry drinks from his glass again. He doesn't seem inclined to talk, despite his earlier promise of explanations. His umbrella leans against the arm of the booth; Eggsy glances at it and has the irrational urge to swat it aside so he doesn't have to look at it.

"So my dad saved your life, yeah?" One of them has to start. Might as well be him. And if he goes first, maybe he can stay calm enough to keep the conversation from falling apart.

"Yes," Harry says. He sets his glass down. "Eggsy, I owe you an apology. Leaving the way I did was inexcusably rude. I can only say that I was deeply shaken to realize who you were, and—"

"What fucking difference does it make?" Eggsy snaps. "Case you hadn't noticed, I ain't six no more."

So much for staying calm.

Harry doesn't move, but once again Eggsy gets that impression of deep stillness from him, like there are all sorts of things happening just beneath the surface. "I did notice," Harry says quietly. "I couldn't help but notice."

So that's one thing confirmed, then. Harry wanted him then, and he still wants him now. It's in his eyes, the way they've gone all dark behind his glasses. He's looking at Eggsy the way he did in the hotel before it all went pear-shaped.

"So what then?" he says. "Why'd you run like that?" It sounds a lot more plaintive than he intended, which pisses him off. He was really hoping to avoid this humiliation.

Harry exhales slowly. He gazes at his almost-empty glass for a moment, then he looks up at Eggsy. "Because I was afraid."

"Yeah, I figured that part out," Eggsy says, although until today he had thought Harry was afraid of something else entirely.

"I was afraid that if you knew the truth," Harry says, "you—"

The door to the Black Prince opens with a bang. It's Rottie, Poodle, the whole gang. They stand in the doorway, Rottie in the lead. "What the fuck you doing here?" Rottie demands. "You taking the piss?"

Harry turns to look at them, mildly curious. "Friends of yours?"

"No," Eggsy says curtly. "Come on." The last thing he wants is for any shit to happen. He and Harry still need to talk. Obviously that ain't gonna happen here. He should've known better, should've picked a more private place.

"Nonsense," Harry says. "We haven't finished our drinks."

Poodle speaks up with vicious satisfaction. "After you nicked his car," he gestures to Rottie as they walk up to the booth, "Dean says you're fair game. He don't give a shit what your mum says."

All that's bad enough, but then Harry makes it a thousand times worse. He blinks up at Rottie and the gang, all innocent and stupid and about to get his head bashed in. "Listen, boys, whatever your beef with Eggsy is, and I'm sure it's completely unfounded, I'd appreciate it enormously if you could just leave us in peace until I finish this lovely pint of Guinness."

Rottie and them stand there for a moment, clearly at a loss. Eggsy feels cold all over with horror. Then Rottie says, "You should get out of the way, Granddad, or you'll get hurt and all."

He's not lying, is the truly horrible thing. All Dean's thugs care about right now is beating the shit out of Eggsy. Anyone coming between them and that goal will only get what they deserve, is what they'll tell themselves.

Eggsy can't bear that thought. Yeah, he's mad at Harry, but that don't mean he wants to see Harry get hurt. Especially not like this and for something he doesn't deserve, when all he was trying to do just now, in a hilariously misguided way, was protect Eggsy.

"He ain't joking. You should go," he says. He'll take his beating if he has to, but it'll be easier to bear if he knows Harry is far away from here and safe. They'll hook up again somehow, he knows they will. After all, Harry still owes him an explanation. And if Harry calls the police right away, it might not be so bad. He might just end up in hospital for a few days instead of in the morgue.

Harry sighs. He looks disappointed, but that's all. He doesn't make a fuss and he doesn't seem afraid of Rottie, not for himself or for Eggsy. He stands up and picks up his umbrella. "Excuse me," he murmurs, the proper gentleman even now, and Rottie extends an arm toward the door.

He's nearly to the door when Poodle says, "If you're looking for another rent boy, they're on the corner of Smith Street."

Eggsy drops his head. Fucking hell.

Harry freezes. For a moment Eggsy has a great view of his broad shoulders and slim waist, then Harry reaches up to lock the doors to the Black Prince. With each lock, he speaks, a long pause between the words. "Manners maketh man," he says, and now the doors are firmly locked.

Rottie and his gang turn away from where they've been clustered about the booth, ready to yank Eggsy out and start whaling away on him. They start to walk toward the door, new prey sighted, Eggsy temporarily forgotten.

"Do you know what that means?" Harry asks. He still has his back to them.

Rottie and the others look at each other and shrug. They don't know and they don't care. Eggsy doesn't know either, but he cares. He cares a whole hell of a lot. They're going to kick the shit out of him, but first he's going to have to watch them hurt Harry.

"Then let me teach you a lesson," Harry says calmly. He sets the curved handle of his umbrella around a glass, then whips his arm backward.

The glass flies across the room. It hits Rottie square in the forehead and shatters. He makes a faint groan and topples over.

Utterly astonished, Eggsy stares.

Harry advances on the rest of the gang, holding his umbrella in one hand. He stops right in front of them and says, "Are we going to stand around here all day, or are we going to fight?"

What happens next can't possibly be real. It's the kind of thing that only happens in the movies. Eggsy watches in delighted shock as Harry takes them all out with nothing more than his umbrella. The same umbrella Eggsy stood beneath so many mornings while it rained all around them, enclosing them in a private cocoon where they could fall in love. The same umbrella that turns out to be both bulletproof and capable of shooting its own projectiles.

It's not until it's all over, every last one of them laid out on the floor and the bartender slumped over the counter, that Eggsy feels a pang of fear for himself. What if Harry turns that amazing violence against him? What if he's next?

That's bad. But fucking hell, he's so turned on. He ain't never seen anything like that before. He would never have dreamed that Harry's bespoke suit hid such power, such speed, such grace. He still can hardly believe it.

And to think he came so close to knowing that body for himself.

He shifts a little in his seat as Harry approaches, the umbrella neatly furled again. He's trying to hide his boner, yeah, but also he's a little apprehensive, wondering what Harry intends to do to _him._

So he's all the more surprised when Harry sits down like nothing happened and finishes his pint. His throat works as he swallows, which only makes Eggsy's cock go harder.

Harry sets the glass down. "Sorry about that. Needed to let off a little steam." He frowns a little. "I was pulled from a job yesterday and someone else took over. It's not easy to see all your work be for nothing."

None of this makes any sense, and Eggsy doesn't even try to unravel it. He only knows one thing for sure. Whatever job Harry is talking about, it sure as hell doesn't involve auditing. "I never met an accountant before," he says. "But I know you ain't one."

Harry doesn't flinch. "You're right about that," he says. "And I—" He breaks off then and his gaze cuts sharply to one side. All the blood drains from his face, like he just saw something too shocking to believe. It's a weird gesture, and Eggsy's confusion grows when he remembers that Harry's done it before, the first day they met, while they were at the coffee shop.

Abruptly Harry stands up again. He's still very pale and his jaw is set as he reaches for his watch. "I do apologize, Eggsy. I shouldn't have done this in front of you." He extends his arm like he's ready to shoot Eggsy with one of those darts that made the bartender pass out.

"No, please!" Eggsy says loudly. He throws his hands up in the air, the classic pose of innocence. "I won't say nothing, I swear! If there's one thing I can do, it's keep my mouth shut."

"You won't tell a soul?" Harry demands.

"Ask the feds," Eggsy says with some pride. "I never grassed anyone up."

Harry stares at him for a long moment before lowering his arm. He still looks like he just got some really bad news, but he seems more in control of himself now. "All right," he says. He picks up his umbrella, then looks back at Eggsy. His shoulders slump a little. "I really am sorry," he says. "This is not exactly how I pictured our first meeting."

Eggsy's heart wrenches almost painfully. He doesn't want to hear that, that Harry has imagined their reunion, too. He doesn't want to know that he hasn't been the only one suffering while they were apart.

"You didn't tell me about my dad," he says. It's the only thing he can think to say that might possibly keep Harry here a bit longer.

"I know," Harry says. "And I will, I promise you. But I have to go. I've just found out a friend of mine died in Kentucky."

Eggsy blinks. He doesn't know how Harry can possibly know that, but he just says, "Yeah, okay."

Harry gives him a faint smile. "You stay here," he says. "I'll sort this out when I get back." He turns around and walks toward the doors. He unlocks them one by one, his back to Eggsy.

He said he would come back, and Eggsy believes he means it, but he's still full of a sudden, irrational fear. What if Harry doesn't come back? What if this is the last time they ever see each other?

"Harry!" He stands up and leaves the booth.

Harry turns toward him, umbrella in hand.

Eggsy steps over the bodies of Dean's gang and walks right up to him. He doesn't even hesitate; if he does, he knows he'll never do it. So he just rises a little on his toes and he leans in and he kisses Harry.

He thinks at first he might have made a mistake. Harry doesn't react, doesn't even kiss him back. He feels incredibly stupid as he starts to pull away, wanting nothing more than to sink through the floor with embarrassment.

Then Harry's free arm snakes around him and yanks him in, and Harry is kissing him, and Eggsy forgets about everything else. There is only him and Harry then, this kiss, this moment. The heartache of the past month fades into nothing. He's full of questions and confusion and hero worship and just then none of it means shit. The only thing that matters is Harry's mouth on his and the feel of Harry's body pressed to his own.

He actually hears it then, a quiet _ping_ sound that most definitely is not in his imagination. It seems to come from Harry's glasses, and it makes both of them freeze at first, and then break apart.

"What the fuck?" Eggsy mutters.

"I have to go," Harry says. "I promise I will explain everything when I get back." He gazes at Eggsy for a moment, and Eggsy can see the truth of that promise in his eyes. Whatever his reasons for freaking out and staying away for so long, Harry really does love him.

"Holdin' you to that," he says.

"And you're right to do so," Harry says. He reaches for the door and opens it; morning sunlight floods the bar.

"Wait," Eggsy says as he starts to walk out.

Harry hesitates again, but this time Eggsy can sense his impatience. So he's quick as he blurts out, "So you know who I am now. Do I get to know your last name?"

Harry smiles at him, and it's the real thing, his eyes full of warmth. "My name is Harry Hart," he says.

And then he's gone, yet again.

****

He can't go home, not after what happened with Rottie and all them. He risks it anyway, hoping he can be in and out before one of them wakes up and calls Dean.

Luck is with him; there's nobody home when he arrives. He throws a bunch of clothes and his toothbrush in his rucksack, thinks about leaving a note for his mum, then decides there's no time.

He goes outside and they're waiting for him. Rottie's still got blood and glass on his forehead. "You fucker!"

Eggsy bolts. The stairs are no good, he sees that right away. In desperation he runs at the balcony railing and leaps.

The jump is the scary part; after that it's simple to get himself to the ground. They all stand there and yell threats and insults as he parkours down, but they're too far away for Eggsy to worry about. He flips them off, then jogs away, maybe for good this time.

He hasn't gone far when the cold reality of his situation settles in. Harry might be coming back for him, and that's just great, but in the meantime he needs a place to hide. If Dean or any of them find out where he is, they won't just hurt him -- they'll fucking kill him. 

Ryan and Jamal would take him in. And they owe him big after last night, him saving their arses like that when the car crashed. But Dean knows them. He'll send Poodle and the others straight to their flats and tear them apart looking for Eggsy.

He could go to work. Hang out at the store all day until it's time to put on his uniform and clock in. He could even ask to grab a few hours' sleep on the battered couch in his boss's office. Everyone there knows he's got "issues" at home; they'd let him hide out for today, at least. 

But the thought of admitting to the truth makes his skin crawl. He could no sooner do that than drag his mates into this mess.

But he's gotta go somewhere. So he ends up knocking on Jamal's door anyway. It ain't like he's got much choice.

It turns out to be the right decision. Jamal's sister is away for a week with her boyfriend, and Jamal has the key to her place. "Supposed to be comin' over to feed her fish," he says as he unlocks the door. "You do that and you can stay here all week."

"Thanks," Eggsy says. It won't stop Dean's muppets from giving his mates shit, but he knows Jamal won't give him up.

"Yeah," Jamal says. "Just don't let them fish die, bruv, or she'll kill us both."

Eggsy nods. He has no doubt that Jamal's sister could easily kick their arses without breaking a sweat.

Jamal doesn't ask why he needs to hide, or how long he'll be here. That's why they're such good mates. They have each other's back when it matters, and the rest of the time they know when to be discreet. "Text me if you need anything." And then he leaves, quietly closing the door behind him. 

Eggsy drops his rucksack on the couch and takes a deep breath. So much has happened in such a short time. He's still kind of reeling, to be honest.

He sits down next to his bag. He looks around at the flat, a mirror image of his own but much neater. Travel posters adorn the walls. There's a hole in the ceiling with some exposed wires dangling down. 

He can't believe it. Harry came back. Harry is not an accountant but something like James Bond. Harry saved him from having to do time in jail and beat the shit out of Dean's thugs to defend his non-existent honor. Harry kissed him with the same passion as before.

Harry still loves him.

Holy shit, Harry still loves him.

In spite of everything that's happened today, that thought still makes Eggsy grin like a fool. He sits there and feels kinda like hugging himself, kinda like just yelling out loud with happy. All the bad shit, knowing that he's a dead man if anyone from Dean's gang finds him, somehow it's all easier to bear now that he has his secret again.

Still, he's got to be really careful. He's not sure what he should do now. It feels wrong to just sit here on his arse like a damsel in distress or something. He might be hiding out right now, but it ain't like he needs _saving_. Nothing like that.

He'll just hang out here today, he decides. Get some sleep and then go to work. Tomorrow morning he'll walk up to the bus stop and scan the faces and look for Harry. He won't find him, probably, but that's okay. Because he knows he _will_ see Harry again. 

The thought makes his heart beat a little faster. There's still a ton of shit they need to talk about, and he's not entirely certain he's completely forgiven Harry for abandoning him, but he's willing to see what happens next.

Well, what actually happens next is that he's gonna take a hot shower. He's still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. He smells like the police station. He can still taste Harry on his lips.

He picks up his rucksack and heads for the front bedroom. He has a feeling he's gonna sleep well today, better than he has in weeks.

****

The sound of his phone ringing wakes him from a sound sleep. He fumbles at it with a fuzzy groan; he's only been asleep for a couple hours, which ain't nearly long enough. "Yeah?"

The voice on the other end is not familiar. "Eggsy, I need you to listen to me. My name is Roxanne and I work with Harry Hart. I need you to get your sister away from anyone in your family. Lock her in the bathroom and throw away the key. Then lock yourself away from your mum and stepfather, from anyone who has a phone. Do it quickly."

He's awake quick enough after hearing all that. "Who are you? What the fuck is going on?"

"Eggsy, please," says the woman. She speaks rapidly, but with the complete confidence that she will be obeyed. "I'm asking you to trust me and trust Harry. He said you would listen. You need to do this, and you need to do it _now_."

It's totally ridiculous. But the praise from Harry, even coming at a distance, gets Eggsy up and moving. 

He's made his temporary home in the bedroom belonging to Jamal's nephew. There's pictures of Batman and Iron Man on the walls, and a silver War Machine figure in mid-flight hanging from a wire attached to the ceiling. He almost trips over his rucksack where it lies on the floor, then flings open the door.

"Ain't no one else here," he says. " 's just me."

"Good," Roxanne says briskly. "Lock yourself in and stay away from anyone with Valentine's SIM card."

Confused as fuck, Eggsy says, "But I got one."

"No, you don't," she replies. "I'll call you when it's safe. Until then, stay inside!"

Everything just keeps getting weirder and weirder. He checks to make sure the front door is locked, even though he knows it is. Then he shuts himself in the loo and locks that door too. 

"What the fuck is going on," he mutters. Why would this woman Roxanne tell him he doesn't have Valentine's SIM card? Of course he does. He stood in the queue for hours to get it, didn't he? He confirmed with that lady in customer service that he didn't owe them nothing for it because it's free, that's the whole point of it, it's free.

Except he got a bill anyway.

"Oh shit," Eggsy says.

 _So did you get your free SIM card_? Harry had asked him. And he had taken the card out to look at it. And Eggsy had heard him put it back, yeah, but he hadn't _seen_ it. Because Harry had distracted him with the approaching bus. Because Harry is not an accountant after all but a fucking spy who switched out the SIM cards. And Harry had paid his bill when it went out, probably pissed off at his carelessness. Hadn't the lady said something about the account being set up for future payments? He hadn't given it too much thought at the time, being too relieved to find out he didn't owe anything, but he realizes now what it means. Harry had planned to pay his bill for all time.

And Eggsy would never have known. 

He starts to look around for something he can use to pop the SIM card out when the quiet day erupts in screams. All around him, in the flats above and below and on either side, voices yell in fury and in terror. Glass shatters and violent thumps rattle the walls.

Reflexively Eggsy ducks down, huddling on the floor beside the bathtub, trying to make himself smaller. It never works, but he tries anyway. He stares in wide-eyed shock at his phone, hardly breathing. He has no idea what's happening out there, and he really, really doesn't want to know.

He can't remember the last time he was this terrified.

It seems to last forever. There's a tremendous thud in the flat above, shaking the entire bathroom. He hears the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. Someone screams in pain, long and loud, and then abruptly goes silent.

And then as suddenly as it began, it's over. Silence descends and everything is still. Eggsy stays curled up on the floor, though, afraid to move.

Above his head, someone starts to sob. Voices cry out in pain and confusion. He hears knocking on doors. A man yells, "Lena!" so loud and close that Eggsy flinches.

He doesn't understand what just happened, but he can't fucking stay here. He don't care what that lady Roxanne said. He needs to get outside. He needs to see what's going on out there.

And what's happened to his mum and Daisy? Where were they when the world went to shit?

He stumbles to his feet and unlocks the bathroom door. The flat looks the same as it did before, but the person upstairs is still crying. Someone walks past the window and Eggsy freezes up, but they keep going and are quickly out of sight.

Outside it's a warm June evening. Eggsy stares in shock at all the broken windows. There's a body at the foot of the steps, lying twisted on the street. Sirens scream in the distance. Far to his right, smoke rises on the horizon, thick and black.

"What do we do?"

He jerks in fright and whirls around. He barely recognizes the old lady standing there. She lives a few doors down: she's been here as long as Eggsy's family has. She's wearing a tan housecoat and slippers. Her hands and arms are streaked with blood. 

He only wants to know if his mum is okay. But he can't call her. Harry suspected something was wrong with the SIM cards, enough to switch them out and protect Eggsy. Using the phone now might set it off again.

And his mum would want him to help this lady. So Eggsy makes himself stand there instead of running away, and he says, "Are you hurt?"

The old lady looks at him. He thinks her name might be Elaine. "I may have killed my cat," she says. She stares up at Eggsy.

More and more people are starting to emerge from their flats. Some of them look hurt. All of them look dazed. All of them are gonna need someone to help them, to tell them what to do next, to keep them calm. 

Eggsy looks at the old lady with her bloody hands. He looks down the street, trying to see his own flat even though it's too far away. He still has no idea what's happened or why, but he knows he's got to do something. He might be the only one who can.

He takes a deep breath. 

"Okay, everyone listen up!" he yells. 

****

The next time he sees Harry it's at the bus stop. Not "their" stop, no, but the one at the corner of Conduit and Savile Row. It's the same stop where Harry used to get off every morning, always smiling a bit regretfully at Eggsy before gathering up his briefcase and umbrella and walking down the aisle.

He had never said where his accounting firm was, and Eggsy had never asked.

There's no buses running today. There's hardly any traffic at all. London is still recovering from the events of what's already being called V-Day. Eggsy walked the first part of the journey, then managed to find a cab that was willing to pick him up and take him the rest of the way. The ride was tense and silent, and he saw the cabbie exhale in relief when he got out of the car, leaving the man alone – and safe – again.

Harry stands at the bus stop, patiently waiting for him. One hand rests on the curved handle of his umbrella. He's wearing the grey pinstriped suit today with the pink-striped tie. It's the same suit he had on the first day they met, when it began to rain and he offered Eggsy the shelter of his umbrella. His glasses are the same and so is the perfectly white pocket square peeking out of his jacket.

New, though, are the wicked looking cut along the side of his neck, the ugly bruise around his mouth and jaw, and the split in his lip. Eggsy's breath catches when he sees these things, and his step quickens. "What happened?"

Harry tilts his head ever so slightly, favoring the injured side of his neck. "It doesn't matter," he says. "I had the better blade." For some reason he glances down at his feet as he says it.

"What," Eggsy says, trying to make a joke of it. It's either that or get all anxious and worried. "Was you sword fightin' or something?"

"Not quite," Harry says with a bit of a smile. And then at last he's moving in, his arm coming up to encircle Eggsy in a warm embrace.

Eggsy sinks against him with a relieved sound that's not quite a whimper. He hugs Harry fiercely tight, then lets up again almost immediately when Harry winces. He doesn't let go, though. Hell no.

"I hear you were instrumental in keeping order in your neighborhood," Harry says. "I'm very proud of you."

No one has ever said that to him before and meant it. The words cause something warm and loose to uncurl in his chest. Eggsy squeezes his eyes shut and tries to hold onto this moment forever. 

He's had a lot of time to think since those terrifying moments when the world almost spun out of control. He's sat next to his mum's bed while she slept with the aid of pills, Daisy hugged to her chest. He's directed relief efforts in the estates and organized clean-up crews. He's mourned for the loss of one of his best mates. He's stared at his phone, the phone that was safe when nearly all others weren't, willing it to ring so he could hear a certain voice again.

Whatever lies Harry may have told, whatever explanations he still owes, Eggsy isn't about to let him go. He's had to do it twice already. He won't do it again.

Without a word, they release each other at the same time and back away a little. Up close Eggsy can see how tired Harry looks; he reckons he looks pretty much the same, though. He hasn't hardly slept since it all happened.

"I'm glad you came," Harry says. "We need to talk, and I was hoping we could do it in peace this time."

Eggsy thinks about the Black Prince, the shattered windows, the tables and chairs smashed into kindling. He thinks about Dean lying dead on the floor, a piece of broken glass shoved in his throat. He thinks about the cuts on his mum's fingers, the ones he's bandaged for her because she can't do it herself.

"Yeah," he says.

Harry leads him down Savile Row. Eggsy shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looks around with interest. He's never been here before, never figured he would end up on this street. Some of the windows are broken, but not as many as on most streets. None of the shops are open, though. In that much, at least, even this posh road is like most others in the city today.

When they reach a tailor called Kingsman, Harry stops. He looks at Eggsy. "Once we go in," he says, "I promise I will answer all your questions. But then I have two questions for you, Eggsy. And I need you to answer them honestly."

That sounds kind of ominous, but Eggsy isn't bothered one bit. He's heard plenty worse in his time. "Okay," he says.

Harry gazes at him for a moment, then nods. He goes up the steps to the front door of Kingsman and inputs a code into the security system. After a moment, a light flashes green, and he opens the door.

The tailor shop might as well be a whole new world. In one corner there's a cleared spot where Eggsy suspects a table used to stand; probably some customers attacked each other and smashed things up a bit. But the rest of the place is clean and still orderly, bolts of fabric stacked on tables, a leather sofa in front of a fireplace where a real fire actually burns, not just one of them fire pit logs you can buy at Asda to roast marshmallows over. It smells of wool and wood and furniture polish, of wealth and arrogance and whisky.

"Would you like something to drink?" Harry asks.

Eggsy shakes his head. "No."

Harry nods and sits on the sofa. After a pause, Eggsy sits on the other end. Not too far away, but not too close, either.

He supposes his first question ought to be how Harry happens to have the security code for a tailor shop on Savile Row and why he chose this place for them to talk. But really, he's not that curious. Well, yeah he is, but there are more important things to ask first.

"That day," he says. "Did you stop it? You stop Valentine? Is that why you left?"

"Yes," Harry says.

That single word changes everything. All the things he's wondered, all the questions he's had, they're real. Harry really _is_ a secret agent, or something like that. Maybe not James Bond exactly, but even better. He's the real fucking thing, not some character in a movie or on TV, but a real bloke who wears tailored suits and can stop bullets with his umbrella.

And then there's himself, Eggsy thinks. The fuckup from the estates, the petty thief, the guy standing on the corner pushing dope when he has no other choice. The loser, the failure, the man in the cheap Asda uniform who takes two buses to get home because he had to go halfway across the city before he could find anyone who would hire him.

What the fuck is he even doing here?

"I apologize for the deception with your phone," Harry says. "At that point I was only beginning to understand the true nature of what Valentine was doing, but I had my suspicions. I was worried for you, but I could see no way to persuade you to give up the SIM card on your own."

"So, what," Eggsy says, "was you, like, investigating him?"

"Yes," Harry says. He looks down briefly, his expression unreadable. Then he seems to reach a decision. He looks back at Eggsy. "A friend of mine died last December while investigating a kidnapping. We didn't know Valentine was involved at that stage. I was ordered to carry on with the mission in my friend's place."

Eggsy nods like he has the first clue what all that means.

"Do you remember," Harry says, "a few months ago there was an explosion at Imperial College?"

Eggsy frowns in thought. Then yeah, he does seem to remember hearing something. It had been on TV, but that was well before he met Harry. "Was that you?"

"It was my escape," Harry says. He frowns. "It was messy and regrettable, but necessary. It could have been a lot worse, though; I've been told I was lucky I didn't end up in a coma." He says this with the same perfectly mild tone he might use to describe the weather. If he's at all bothered by his close call, he doesn't show it.

"We suspected Valentine after that, having traced some software to him. So I conceived of a plan to learn what I could about his company and his business dealings. I thought anything he was involved with would show up in the financial records."

"And did it?" Eggsy asks.

"As a matter of fact, it did," Harry says, "although we still didn't understand it until he made his announcement about the free SIM cards. There were all kinds of interesting people on his payroll: psychologists, brain surgeons, computer engineers, software designers, and so on." He purses his lips in displeasure. "It took us far too long to put it together. I bear most of the blame for that."

"You?" Eggsy can't see how that's possible. "How?"

Harry gives him a rueful smile. "I finished my 'audit' of Valentine's corporation two weeks after I met you. But I still kept going back to that bus stop. I spent half my morning with you instead of working on my mission." His smile slowly dies. "Merlin tried to warn me. Several times, in fact, but I wouldn't listen."

Eggsy stiffens up. That's really not fucking cool. Harry might as well lay the blame at _his_ feet.

"And before you say anything, I want you to know that I don't hold you responsible for any of this, Eggsy," Harry says. "It was entirely my own decision, and my own fault." He gazes steadily at Eggsy, but for the first time Eggsy can tell he is nervous about their conversation. "You see, I had fallen in love with you. I knew we could never have anything together, but I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, either."

It's at once the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to him, and also the stupidest. He can hardly believe it. "What the fuck are you on about, that we could never have anything? Why not?"

Harry gives him another one of those smiles tinged with regret. "How could I expect you to be with me when you could never know the truth about who I was?"

Okay, yeah, that kinda makes sense. He's seen the movies. He knows about spies and their private lives, how they don't exactly have one. Always traveling, always far from home, seducing people left and right. Kinda hard to have a real relationship amid all that.

And that was even before Harry had realized who he was, before the ghost of his dad entered the picture.

"Well, I know the truth now," he says. "And I know what I want. And anyway, who are you to decide what I want or don't want? What gives you the right to make that decision?" He leans in a little, wanting to make his point. "It's my life and I'll fucking decide what I want and who I want to be with, you get me?"

"I do," Harry says solemnly.

"Good," Eggsy says. "And you better get used to it, because I already did decide."

Harry tenses up a little. "I don't blame you," he says quietly.

"Oh, fuck off," Eggsy says. "Of course I want to be with you."

He slides across the sofa so his right thigh is pressed to Harry's left thigh, and he sees the faint surprise and gratitude in Harry's eyes, and then he can't see anything else 'cause they're kissing and he's got his eyes closed.

It's like they pick up where they left off, like the days and horrors that came in between this kiss and their last one never actually happened. Those little sparks explode beneath his skin, and he breathes Harry in, and he never wants to stop kissing Harry, not ever again.

Harry kisses him back with the same urgency, tasting him, asking more of him. One hand slides up to cup the back of his head, and Eggsy thinks he might just die then from the joy of that touch, memory finally overruled by the reality.

It's not until he tastes copper, bright and red, that he realizes Harry is bleeding.

"Oh fuck!" He draws back like he's been struck. "Fuck!"

"It's quite all right," Harry says. Yeah, his lip is bleeding. Eggsy winces in sympathy; he's been there before, far too often. 

"No, it ain't," Eggsy says. "I'm sorry."

"You needn't apologize," Harry says. He dabs at his lip. "Although I suppose we ought to put such activities on hold for now."

"A rain check?" Eggsy can't help saying.

Harry smiles a little, then winces. "Yes. Precisely."

"And just so you know," Eggsy says, because he needs to get this out there. "I fell in love with you pretty much right from the start. Standing there with you under your bulletproof umbrella. So you weren't the only one."

Harry is careful not to smile too hard this time and start his lip to bleeding again, but his reaction is there in his eyes and the way they come alight. "I had very much hoped so," he says.

"Well, you were very much right," Eggsy teases.

For a few moments it's enough to just sit there and stare at each other. Everything's going to be okay now, he can feel it.

Except there's something they still need to talk about. So he scoots back a little, putting some space between them. "Tell me about my dad. And my medal."

Harry nods. "First, though, I think you need to understand Kingsman."

Eggsy looks around at the old timey uniforms carefully kept behind glass, the huge clock over the mantel, the fire burning even though it's almost the end of June. "You mean this tailor shop we're sitting in?"

"That's one part of it," Harry says. 

So Eggsy learns about Kingsman. An international intelligence organization without the government bureaucracy. Spies without borders. The new knights of the modern age, wearing bespoke suits of armor. A whole group of them like Harry, plus their newest agent, Roxanne. "I believe you two have met."

"Kinda," Eggsy says. If you can call having a few conversations over the phone meeting someone. He likes her, though. She sounds pretty cool. He hopes he gets to meet her soon.

"Seventeen years ago, your father was my candidate for a position that became available when the previous knight was killed."

Eggsy tries to imagine it. He can't really remember his dad; he was just too young when Lee died. But what a difference it would have made, growing up in a house where no one had to steal shit just to get by, where no one told him he either sold drugs on the street or sold himself, it was his choice but either way he better get his arse out there and start selling.

Quietly Harry tells him the true story of Lee Unwin's death. He accepts all the blame for it. "My mistake could have cost the lives of every man in that room. Instead it only cost the life of one man -- and his entire family."

Eggsy scowls. He hates that kind of talk. Yeah, what happened was shitty, especially since it opened the door for Dean to enter their lives, but what's done is done. He don't want to be the tragic figure in need of saving. He's doing just fine, thanks very much.

"Okay," he says. "So you saw the medal and you realized who I was and you freaked out."

"Yes, I suppose I did," Harry says. "Not my finest hour, I admit. I'm very sorry for that. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't think how. As cruel it was to just walk away, I thought it would be crueler to give you a 'proper' breakup."

"Nah," Eggsy says, and he's only slightly bitter. "Much better to let me sit there in silence wondering what the fuck I'd done to deserve getting dumped."

Harry drops his gaze. "I can only apologize so many times, Eggsy."

"So do it again," Eggsy says. He doesn't exactly enjoy seeing the guilt on Harry's face -- except that a part of him actually does.

Harry looks up at him, as sincere as he's ever been. "I'm sorry I hurt you," he says. "And I promise I will never hurt you again."

Eggsy stares at him. He looks at that ugly cut down Harry's neck, legacy of what must have been a very sharp blade. Just half an inch to the side and he would be dead right now.

His heart squeezes painfully in his chest at the thought. How many times over the past two months has he come close to losing Harry, and he never knew?

He thinks about the violence in the Black Prince, the way Harry took out Rottie and his thugs with such ease. He thinks about his life and all the ugly shouting and the bruises that have to be hidden and the things no one ever talks about.

He thinks that life with Harry Hart, this man who is intimately familiar with violence, might be the most peaceful existence he's ever known.

"Okay," he says. "I believe you."

Harry slowly exhales. "Thank you."

But he's just realized something else. "You said, in the pub you said you got pulled from your mission." And he's incredibly thankful for that, too. It sucks that Harry's friend died, but the other option is just not an option at all. 

"Yes. A week ago I met with Valentine over a private dinner at his house. It was obvious he suspected me, so when we learned of his plans for a test at a church in Kentucky, my boss refused to let me go. It was too risky, he claimed. Valentine would be expecting me." Harry's jaw tightens. "Instead he sent Gawain. And then he betrayed him. Valentine was waiting for him anyway, and killed him."

Eggsy winces a little in sympathy, even though part of him is glad, really fucking glad. It could have been Harry at that church. It could have been Harry lying dead in Kentucky. 

But... "Gawain?"

Harry gives him an absent smile. "His code name."

Well, shit. That's kinda exciting. "What's yours?"

"I am Galahad," Harry says. 

Eggsy grins. "Fucking knights of the round table."

"Yes," Harry says. "And now Arthur is dead, and we will soon have another."

He's starting to understand things. Like why Harry was so shaken in the Black Prince to hear of his friend's death. It wasn't so much the death as it was the circumstances behind it. And he knows without asking that Harry is the reason that Arthur, whoever he was, is dead. "Is it gonna be you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry says. "Of course not. Arthur wanted me to join him in Valentine's brave new world. It's why he sent Gawain to the church and spared me. I am thus considered suspect until my name is cleared."

Eggsy gestures to the injuries on Harry's face. "Wouldn't think it would take 'em that long to figure it out."

"Well, yes," Harry says. He takes a deep breath. "Which brings me to my first question for you. If you're satisfied with all that I've told you, that is."

He nods. He's got a hundred more questions, but they can keep. He'll get his chance to ask them. Because Harry isn't going to leave him again. He knows that now. This time they're both going to stay.

"Would you be interested in joining Kingsman?"

He can't pretend he wasn't hoping that would be the question, that Harry wouldn't tell him all this and then send him back to his shitty flat and shitty job. But now that the moment is here, Eggsy hesitates.

It's a chance, he tells himself. A chance to really do something with his life. A chance to prove that he can do more. He's had a taste of it since V-Day, with all the stuff he's done to put things right in the estates, but this would be something else entirely. This would be change on a scale he can barely conceive of.

That part don't scare him, though. He's ready for it. What stops him is the thought of what'll happen to his mum and Daisy if he's not there. Yeah, Dean's dead, but the rest of the gang is still there. It's only a matter of time before one of them decides to flex a little and take over. 

He can't leave them behind. He just can't.

"What about my mum?" he asks.

"Traditionally you would be vying for the job against several other candidates," Harry says. "However, time is working against us and because I was the first agent to offer a proposal for Gawain's chair, it is yours if you want it."

His expression is very serious as he continues, "There will of course be an extensive interview process. It's dangerous and it's entirely possible you won't pass." He smiles a little then. "However I have no doubt that you will succeed."

All that's nice and all, if somewhat alarming, but it don't answer his question. He's about to say that when Harry says, "Among the perks of being an agent is a house of your choosing. Normally you would not receive the keys until your knighthood was official, but I'm sure I can convince our new Arthur to make an exception."

A house. A new home for his mum. An actual bedroom for Daisy. "Can I pick where it is?"

"Of course," Harry says. "Kingsman actually owns many properties, most of them in the same area." He hesitates then says, almost shyly, "If you like you could live near me."

Hell yeah, he'd like that. Having his family close by is just the icing on the cake.

He looks around the shop with renewed interest now. This place could be his job. Or his cover story. "Do I gotta do actual tailor stuff?"

"Yes," Harry says. "But you might be surprised by how much fun it can be."

Eggsy starts to scoff, and then abruptly shuts his mouth. He thinks of that morning when Harry said he was good with numbers and could tell Eggsy what his sizes were. That was the morning everything fell apart, but before then, when he was thinking about standing there in front of Harry wearing nothing but a tape measure...

"And we'll need to get you measured for a suit," Harry says. 

"You gonna do it?" Eggsy asks. Fuck, he really likes that idea; his cock most definitely likes it. Thinking about it makes him feel a bit too warm, imagining Harry wrapping a tape measure around him, eyes and hands on his body, the two of them close together in a fitting room. He doesn't even care about the suit. Just give him that measuring tape and a chance to finish what they started in the hotel that last morning. 

"I suppose I could," Harry says. "I wouldn't want my skills getting rusty."

Eggsy laughs, full of joy. "Nah," he says. "Definitely wouldn't want that."

"So you'll take the job?" Harry sounds hopeful. 

"Fuck yeah," Eggsy says. 

Harry is careful with his smile again, but his whole face lights up. "I'm very glad to hear that."

Eggsy grins. He's nervous about what he's just committed to, but he's also excited as hell. He's gonna be a spy. He's gonna wear a bespoke suit and help save the world. Just by saying yes he's already saved his family.

And he gets to do it all with Harry. They're gonna be spies together. Next time they stand at the bus stop together, they'll both be undercover. 

How fucking cool is that?

The fire is starting to go out. Behind the counter, a staircase leads upstairs, inviting Eggsy to take his first steps into his new life. Harry sits mere inches away, the firelight gleaming on his hair. He's everything Eggsy ever wanted, and he too is full of surprises. 

"You had another question for me?" he says. 

"Yes." Harry looks at him. "I wondered if you would like to share my umbrella?"

It's the first thing Harry ever said to him. It's dorky and romantic and heartfelt and so very perfectly Harry. 

Stupid, goofy love makes Eggsy laugh. "Is that what you crazy spy kids are calling it these days?"

"Oh no," Harry says. "I don't give up my secrets so easily. You'll have to try much harder than that."

Thrilled by this hint of what lies in store for them, Eggsy says, "I can do that."

Harry smiles. "I'm looking forward to it." He stands up. With his left hand he carries his umbrella, that wonderful shelter from the rain that started it all. Except Eggsy thinks now that even if it had been sunny the day they met, they still would have found their way to each other. The rain just made it happen faster, is all.

"So then," Harry says. "Shall we get started?"

Eggsy grins, so in love he can hardly stand it. He gets up and starts to follow Harry toward the back of the shop, where the fitting rooms must be. "So do I get one of them umbrellas too?"

"Of course," Harry says. He glances down at it. "One of my favorite weapons. And very convenient for meeting amazing young men at bus stops." He opens the door to a room labeled with a gold number one. "By the way, it might interest you to know that it's called the Rainmaker."

"Shut up," Eggsy says in absolute delight. What a fucking perfect name. Of course that's what's it's called. Like it just knew they were going to meet, so it had to live up to its name and create the perfect set of circumstances for them.

The door shuts behind them. Harry walks up to the mirror and looks at Eggsy through the glass. "Ready?"

Eggsy nods. "Yeah."

Harry sets his palm on the mirror. A scanner embedded in the glass lights up green. The center of the room starts to descend like a lift.

Eggsy looks around in wonder as they go lower and lower, leaving the tailor shop behind. He catches Harry's eye and he winks. 

Harry smiles. "Welcome to Kingsman, Eggsy."


End file.
